Growing Pains

So, the blog has been a little quiet lately, but my brain has been spinning. Time to sit and compose.

Lucky you.

;P

If you've glanced at my sidebar lately, you'll see we now have TWO TEENAGERS in the house...with one more coming dangerously close. I've always vowed that the dreaded teenage years would NOT be that. That we would somehow bypass it all and grow side-by-side in perfect harmony.

I wrote about some of my learned wisdom here.   And, luckily, we've pretty much stayed the course. But here's the kicker.  EVERYONE is growing up. RAPIDLY. So.... that "one teenager" thing? Has now MULTIPLIED... and we are SO TOTALLY OUT-NUMBERED.

(sorry. I think my caps-lock button got stuck.)

Action Man is now 15. 15 is huge.... well, ok, maybe it's just him. HE IS HUGE. Taller than I am, he can barely take me seriously when I issue my proclamations about when he will be home and why he must grace us with his presence for this or that outing. Yes, he smiles and obliges... but it's maddening how I have to look UP to make my demands.

(this is the picture of him I prefer...)

He's had a few...erm...experiences. Harmless and innocent, yes. But totally unexpected and a wee bit... alarming. (When you answer the phone and the voice on the other end says "This is the ..name of city we reside in... POLICE department..." Yeah. I'm earning my gray hairs.)
And when his good friend from school shows up to DRIVE HIM AWAY somewhere??? Well, that's a whole other level of growing-up-trusting-God and Did-that-boy-just-drive-off-with-MY-BABY??? kind of hysteria.

(he prefers this one... Ugh)

 And that's what 15 looks like around here.



What about 13? Well, we've done 13 before. But it looked a lot different. THIS 13 is unique to Sports Fan. First off, it's much more aloof.  It's suspicious and unsure. 13 is still helpful and willing, but definitely just as intolerant this time around. We are surviving it, though.  As an 8th grader, Sports Fan earned himself a spot on the High School Basketball Team at his school. He wore his uniform proudly on game days... and sat the bench patiently. He needed this. To be included, but shown his place. Coach loves him and sees the promise there. They have an understanding, and it worked out beautifully.

(picture for the Mama....)

Sports Fan also has an understanding with our Little Dude. I stand firmly behind my opinion that there's nothing even close in efficiently erasing teenage angst like a toddler. All Dude has to do is say one thing, and the older ones chuckle, all stress gone. Magical to witness. And Sports Fan goes out of his way to cultivate this older brother mentoring.

(See? 13 all the way...)



Then there's 12. Oy. 12 is likely the single most difficult age EVER. It's the nobody understands me, everyone is out to get me, why doesn't anyone listen to me, and why are you all STARING at me!!! ...age.  Fortunately for 12, she is simply adorable. She helps out TREMENDOUSLY. Little (TALL) Dear bakes up a storm and plays with Little Dude. She is, quite literally, my right hand. I leave to go to a sports event, giving vague instructions for mashed potatoes, and when I come home...they're ready to go. It's awesome. Like cloning myself. :)

 (here she is with her mini-Me, Little Love)



Having teenagers is a lot harder than I had imagined, but not in an ALL IS BAD kind of way.  Funny, in all of my "figuring" I just never pondered the reality that my own children would actually be their own person. Have their own personality, complete with likes and dislikes. I've had to be flexible in my mothering....my expectations, and meet them where they're at. Being open and engaging with my kids, keeping the lines of communication open (and praying like mad)...stacks the deck in my favor.

And remembering to SMILE....the passing of time has officially reached warp speed.

Some days it's all I can do to hang on.

:)

Barefoot in Winter

The winds are blowing from the South today, strong and sure.

Winter is not over. Not by a long shot. But these winds are making themselves known.  It won't be long now.... High of 83 today is certainly no joke. Little Dude is wearing shorts, and a t-shirt rummaged out of a recently acquired nephew-hand-me-down box. And bare feet.

Little Dude's feet are always bare.

For months I've pulled on long socks and boots, covering my too-white legs and un-polished toes. I've piled on sweaters and long-sleeve shirts, armoring myself against the relative cold and windy Texas winter. Cozy fires, hot coffee, chats with kindred spirits. Comforting food with friends.

Everyday, my sharp-angled cowboy boots cut through the bitter air, give me a sense of Conqueror. I accomplish, I go forth, I do.  There is no time for softness and vulnerability here. I am too busy, too driven. For myself, my family, my loved ones. I will not be laid bare.

Hidden, I stay warm and secure.

Little Dude fights to keep his feet free of constraint. For each outing this winter, the hard shoes had to be cajoled on. Threats of "no park today" or "stay home instead" were issued in abundance. As soon as he was buckled secure in his car-seat, the offending shoes were off and his window rolled down with the use of his feet laid bare.

This littlest one, open to the wind and the air for all to see.

He teaches me, my Little Dude.

Today, I donned shorts and a t-shirt, throw my hair back in a bandana. Meet the world with my wrinkles, squinting in the too-bright sun. Chatting...not to be vulnerable, but to know.

And now writing....because it's been way too long.

Besides, the sun is not so slanted anymore.

It's time for feet to be bare.

:)

Election Thoughts

You won't find any deep philosophical thoughts or compelling arguments here.  At this stage of the game, I'm pretty sure everyone has their minds made up and most likely, already cast their vote.  So, no, I'm not out convince anyone or dazzle with some stunning arguments.

I'm here to speak what's been brewing in my heart.

I'm a Catholic. I'm a lot of other things too. But first and foremost I am a cradle-Catholic. True to Rome, in line with ALL of the teachings of our beloved Church.

I'm also meek. I understand fully that in ANY circumstance I encounter, but for the grace of God go I. There is no guarantee that I will never be homeless, never be raped, never be persecuted, never lose a child, never (insert unimaginable horrors here)..... and the list goes on.

I don't like to make waves. Like most Americans, I want to be left alone to live my life the way I see is right. I choose as my guiding light the Catholic Church. Not everyone does, and that is totally fine with me. I won't try to convince people that my way is the only way. It is pointless and only breeds contempt. I am convinced that this path I have chosen is fruitful on so many levels. Else, why would I have chosen it and continue to choose it?

So, I'd like to be left alone to continue down my path. To do and act in my lawful-abiding way.  And  I am grateful that we live in a country that guarantees and protects my right to practice my religion and live in the way I see fit.

Unfortunately, the past four years have shown that whatever anyone else in this country may do, Catholics will not be able to simply go about their business, blissful and free. When the President issued the HHS mandate, he awakened a sleeping giant. Most Catholics are like me. They want to be left alone. We're not looking for a fight. (Those who are, will vote third party and strut around saying "I told you so" when all Hell breaks loose. The Apocolypse they've been dreading, yet hoping for, and were instrumental in attaining, knocking at our doors.) But when we were called out. When the Bishops had to respond, the wall was strong, the keep unbreachable. And the strong emerged.

I am not among those strong. I am one of the vulnerable. I feel that so keenly now. I cannot go through my days without worry plainly written on my face. The coming paycheck, the full tank of gas... will that still be a given next month, next week, tomorrow?

Living in the present moment and trusting has never been my forte. It is a mixed blessing that I find myself doing so now. I vote not because I want to return to that blissful, trusting innocence. But because I love my country. I love deeply all that it stands for. LIFE, Liberty and the Pursuit of Happiness.

I love that we are all different.

And I love that we have that right to be.

Eleven Years Ago

Who writes a post on the 11th Anniversary of something?

5 years, 10, or even 15 years... Yes.  But 11?

Yet... this Anniversary. The Anniversary of Sept 11th, 2001... there is no protocol for this one.

The tears that spring unbidden whenever I sit and try to find the words to recapture the horror, the loss, the pride, the determination....

It's too big.

Too big to define the details. Because it was the details of that day that does a person in, takes the breath away and arrests the soul.

The individual stories of loss and heroism, of love and bravery... of being human.... that breaks us open.

It's those tales, both tender and gruesome, that drive us to our knees and cause us to remain there in quiet contemplation.

It's the LOVE that reduces us to tears.

We were laid bare that day. Our trust was shattered and our humanity exposed. We encountered an enemy we didn't know we had. The intensity of  hate that spewed from this enemy... it caught us unawares. And our lives would never be the same. Did we realize that?

Did we see the paradigm shift that was to come in the world we thought we knew?

My kids are too young to remember. Even while watching the documentaries, there is something lost.
It's the personal association... "the remembering where you were when you heard".... "the knowing".... "the fearing"


Then Action Man says it. Wait...was that the day you ran out to the backyard and screamed at us to come inside? You were so scared Mom.

Yes, the F-18's were patrolling so so close... and I thought it was an airliner bearing down. So silly now... to think that Dallas would be a target. But that day? Anything could happen.

Because the unimaginable already had.

Thousands of lives were lost that day. Hundreds of thousands more were changed forever.

May our tears and prayers never run dry.




(Photo credits)

When You've Got a Foot in Both Worlds

This isn't a homeschooling post.  It isn't a "Yay, my kids are going back to school" post either.

It's both.

Today I spent eighty-bajillion dollars at St@ples for the going-to-school kids, and I most certainly did not exclaim, "Well! THAT was easy!" Because it was painful. Extremely painful. And any mother who has stood in the aisle of a mega-office-supply store, trying to find pocket folders with brads in 8 different colors and single subject notebooks to match... will know exactly what I am talking about.
Pain-FUL.

Next week, while three of my kids are tucked away at school, I will haul the other three to St@ples again and buy all of their school supplies... for homeschooling. Luckily, it won't be as painful, except that the kids will be present, and the lure of snazzy backpacks and lunchboxes (which they won't use... hello! you are HOMEschooled!) will drive them to distraction and I will be forced to buy 8 of them... to match their notebooks, of course.

:P

Clearly, I am coming undone.

Moms who homeschool are saints. We all know this. Moms who send their kids to school and work themselves are also saints.  Moms who send some kids to school and homeschool the others are certifiable.  I am living proof.

Having a foot in each world is confusing, conflicting, and exhausting. It's to take that yearly "re-evaluation" of one's philosophical principles of education to an entire new dizzying level.  Putting each child under a microscope and pondering just how their (seeming) microscopic brains will BEST be formed and nurtured and cultivated... school or home? Given THIS child's propensity for THAT type of behavior.... home, or school?  THIS guy needs a wake-up in the reality dep't.... home or school? What scenario is BEST for THAT child in the BIG picture... home or school? And excuse me, can I have another margarita? 

Last year, with 3 of the kids going to a "brick and mortar" school for the first time, it was definitely a nail-biting time for me. Especially with Little Boo's last-minute entrance. Craziness.

This year, the beginning of the school year won't be quite as dramatic. At least I hope not.  We're maintaining the status quo... the boys and Little Boo will go. Little Dear, Love and Dude will stay home. We're fine with that.  There is a difference though, this year.

This year, I know what I'm getting myself into.

I know that volunteering at their school on any scale will require a herculean effort on my part.  That sometimes life will throw us a huge curveball (case in point, Little Boo's emergency appendectomy the middle-of-the-night before Andrew had to drive the 7th graders to Austin... which he did, on 3 hours of sleep.) and we will have to adapt and adjust because school does not wait, will not alter plans... the "machine" keeps going.  And that is a very good thing, don't get me wrong. It is one of the reasons we put some of the kids in school... so that, no matter what kind of night I have with Little Dude, the kids will still be taught, and will still learn. It matters especially to me that the older kids will still be accountable.... the burden isn't mine alone. :)

I know that sometimes there is a rift, a division in the house. The school kids will feel left out of homeschooler activities.... the home-school kids will feel left out of the fun school-kids' activities.  And sometimes, there is no remedy for that.  Just because the school-kids have class parties does not necessarily mean I have to bring the party to our home, and re-create it here. And when we take a "lake day" for mom's sanity, the school kids will not be staying home that day, to partake in our fun. But sometimes, the at-home schoolers and I can go to the fun "spirit day" at school, and my at-school boys are invited to the homeschool "game nights" in order to re-connect with friends. There is an ebb and flow between the two worlds that works quite nicely, and I am grateful.

I also know that this is where we're meant to be right now. As crazy as it sometimes may get, I am confident that we've looked at each child, evaluated thoroughly, and made the right decision.

Now, please excuse me while I go pour myself another margarita.

:)

Taking Back Our Kids

We're in the midst of Birthday month here.

As the kids get older, the presents get more complex... and much more expensive.

And what is the A #1 request this year?

Electronics.... iPods, mp3 players, cameras, personal video recorders, etc....

Action Man bought himself an iTouch last year. He earned the money and spent it on a brand new 4th generation iTouch.  As soon as he got it, I password-protected the restrictions page and restricted almost everything. He was (and still is) a good sport about those restrictions. Youtube and web-surfing are not allowed. Never have been. He can text and listen to music and play games.

Just recently, we changed the netflix password and refused to allow him access.

He wasn't so thrilled about that.

(It wasn't for the reason you think.)

Action Man is enamored with old tv shows. Hogan's Heroes, MacGyver, and Miami Vice have been staples of his.  Just recently he discovered Flashpoint (eh) and Psych.  None of these shows are objectionable. In fact, Psych has been in our instant queue for quite awhile.

The problem was, Action Man was retiring to his room early, and staying up late watching for hours on end.

Then, Sports Fan started doing the same thing... taking our Kindle Fire, plunking in the ear buds and watching similar shows in his bedroom.

We were not comfortable with this arrangement. I couldn't put my finger on it, but it just didn't seem right.

One evening, Andrew had enough. He changed the Netflix password and refused access to the boys.  Oh, the wailing and grinding of teeth!  The pleads to Mom (since when have I become the softie??) and the muttering...

In sifting through the misery, it dawned on me. It's not that our boys are deprived. We have set up our school room as a game room for the summer. An extra tv with the wii and a dvd player is all set for them to play or watch (as earned by reading... btw) with their friends.  The boys can easily go in there, close the door and watch Psych in the evenings. Here's the kicker, though. They won't be isolated. They won't be in total control. They'll have to agree on the episode... they may have to endure Little Dude for a few moments... or (gasp) Mom might relax next to them and watch.

We would never in a million years place a television in the boys' bedroom. But, sneaky technology, it was exactly what was happening when Action Man brought his iTouch to his room and Sports Fan squirreled up there with the Kindle Fire.

The boys, innocently enough, were slowly disappearing from the family. Relationships were being sacrificed to the screen. And Andrew and I were caught unawares.

It weaseled in through the back door, so to speak.

It's only been about 48 hours since we instituted this new rule.  Last night, I spent the evening watching Psych with the boys. It's a quippy, funny show. I can see why they enjoy it. Mild swearing, yes, but nothing they can't handle. It was fun to enjoy it with them, to hear them laugh and just... share a couch for the evening.

And, judging from our conversations this morning... a different tone has taken hold, for sure... I think we got 'em back just in time.

One more month of summer.

I'm looking forward to evenings with my boys again.

:)

Updates!

We're in the dog days of summer.  The air conditioning whirs non-stop and any forays to the outside world is either extremely brief, or involves thousands of gallons of chlorinated water.

Or, we're at a soccer game.
:P

Life in the Nut House has been pretty much status-quo these days.  Not without our usual minutia of struggles, of course, but really, they are minutia when compared to the goings-on of the outside world.

We were firsthand witnesses to this horrific event.  And yes, Lil Sis' wedding went off without a hitch.  Did I ever mention she was getting married on this blog? Good heavens!
Here's an awesome post about her awesome guy.  (notice that most of the pics were taken at the Nut House... she has a long history with this fellow, my new bro-in-law Paul)

And so, we made yet another insane journey north this summer. A quick (albeit evacuated) stop to see my parents in Colorado Springs... then on to Montana for my niece's wedding.  Then back to Colorado for Lil Sis' wedding. It was fantastic to spend so much time with both sides of the family. To rent a HUGE house in Montana with Andrew's brothers and sisters and their families, and then to come to Colorado and see my family and Aunts and Uncles from NY... just fantastic.

And now... for some cute pics.

Cousins.... from the Montana wedding.  :)

My lovely sis with the flower girls and ring bearers. (Little Dude is top right)

The Newlyweds!
{sigh} So. Beautiful.


We are home, now. Our fairytale visits complete. :)

Texas greeted us with oppressive heat and thunderstorms.

Little Boo has already had a soccer tournament. (It was 106. We are nothing if not truly committed... or insane.) 

Little Dear is enjoying her drama practices (They are doing the musical Cinderella in August)

The boys were counselors for a camp they and their buddies host every summer. (Survival Camp... ala Bear Grylls, anyone?)

Little Love's days are punctuated with swimming, playdates, and tons of playtime with Little Boo. (which translates into energetic assertions of will... aHEM.)

Little Dude is a joy. He's grown so much!

~Hope y'all are having a grand summer as well~


:)

We Were Here!

This was taken June 30th at my niece's wedding in Montana.


I'll be back... soon!

 :)

Extremely Loud and Incredibly.....

...Depressing. (A book review)

I got a Kindle for Valentine's day. I so love it. It's an old dinosaur of a Kindle, with push buttons and everything. No touch screen or internet here...exactly what I wanted!

One of my first purchases was the book Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close by Jonathan Safran Foer.   I had seen the movie trailers in December and was excited to learn it was based on a book.

I prefer reading to watching. I'm really nerdy that way. (Except the LOTR series... amazing stuff there.)

Anyway. My expectations were that it was a "feel good" book. That this poor boy had lost his dad in the 9/11 terrorist attacks, had found a key left to him by his dad... and the book would detail his search for the lock and in the meantime draw him closer to his dad and mankind in general.  That somehow this search would help to heal this young man, and show him how connected he is to these people in NYC. 

I couldn't have been more wrong.

*****SPOILER ALERT*****

I'm truly sorry, but in order to prove my point, I have to give away quite a bit. Since I have not seen the movie, I have no idea if I'm spoiling anything there. So, read on with caution!

There are quite a few unknowns at the start of this book. And that makes for good, healthy suspense. You read because you want to find out the answers.

Let me outline a few.

~At the beginning of the book ,we meet Oskar (the 12 year old protagonist) on Sept 11th. He is home early from school, alone in his apartment in NYC. He sees that there are messages on the home answering machine. And then the phone rings... it's his Dad.(chapter ends)

~Later on, we start to read letters. Letters to Oskar... and "Letters to my Unborn Son"...

~Oskar finds a key in an envelope at the bottom of a blue vase. He believes it is important to his Dad somehow, and he is determined to find out what it opens. There is a name on the envelope... Black. He decides to ask everyone in the city whose last name is Black if they know anything about the key or his Dad.

~Oskar is a self-proclaimed atheist. He and his dad even joke about his "belief" (or lack thereof)....

We need answers, right?  So I keep reading.

The problem is that the answers are so very depressing.

The atheist answer? Well, at the end of the story Oskar says he's an atheist BUT!... it's "complicated." Ugh.

The letters. Well, his grandfather left his grandmother before Oskar's Dad was born. So, the "Letters to my Unborn Son" are from him.  Through him we find out that the grandmother is mostly blind. The grandfather had her type out letters (her story) and then he realizes that he had forgotten to put the typewriter ribbon in! Volumes of blank pages outline her life. He pretends to read them, just to make her feel better.

The grandmother writes letters to Oskar. She adores him. Through these letters, we find out how unbearable her relationship with her ex-husband had been. He was in love with her sister who had died. They divided their home into "something" places (places they could acknowledge each other) and "nothing" places (places they could be invisible to each other) and everything was either a something or a nothing. Of course, the bedroom was a nothing.... 
We also find out that the grandmother was actually NOT blind. And she knew about the typewriter ribbon. She kept typing anyway. Pages and pages of her story... of nothing.

Keep in mind this NOTHING theme. It gets worse.

The key. Oh, THE KEY!! (imagine me grabbing my head and busting it through a wall)  Oskar embarks on his journey, meeting all of these interesting people.... for months he does this, every Saturday, working his way down the list of people with the last name of Black. The eccentric old man who lives above them (whose last name is Black) accompanies him for part of it. It all seems so promising!  But then. Then he realizes there is a message on the answering machine from months before. It's from one of the first people he meets. She says she does know something about the key... her ex-husband... (click) it ends. He rushes out to visit her. It turns out that her ex-husband has been looking for this very key. She didn't want to say anything because she was mad at him. Oskar then asks why the message got cut off... did his mom pick up? Turns out, yes, she had, and this woman had explained everything to her. So, whenever Oskar had met anyone, his mom had already called ahead to pave the way for him. Even the company of the old man was rearranged. And that friendship they had? Poof. Gone. The old man moved away with no explanations or good-byes to Oskar.
BUT WHAT ABOUT THE KEY? What does it open??? It opens a safety deposit box that belonged to the father of the ex-husband. Oskar's dad had bought a blue vase at an estate sale and never noticed the envelope at the bottom of it. Period, the end. The key had nothing to do with Oskar or his Dad.

And the real kicker. We meet Oskar the morning of September 11th remember? And the telephone is ringing. He sees it is his Dad. It is 10:22am. The answering machine picks up. His dad says, "Are you there?" And then he repeats it, over and over and over. "Are you there? Are you there? Are you there?" He says that for almost 2 whole minutes.  It cuts off. It is 10:24am. The North Tower collapses.

So, his Dad dies asking for his son. And his son stands there, staring at the answering machine.... NOTHING.

*****************************************************

To be completely fair... there are a few gems here.  Oskar is an extremely likable kid. He is clever, not book-smart, but has a vivid imagination and a unique outlook on life, given his age. He likes to "invent" things during the long, sleepless nights. Many of his quirky sayings keep coming to mind... how his "boots are heavy" when he is sad... how he wishes everyone could "see" how you were feeling, like a color on your face... maybe people would be kinder?  And things along those lines. It is endearing.

But what he has lost, and the sense of hopelessness that surrounds him, is unbearable. And the lack of redemption for anyone here, overwhelming.

Some may argue that Oskar has begun to find healing. Knowing that the key has not brought him closer to his Dad, he will find other ways to mend. But I'm not convinced. The only thing I walk away with, is that it all means NOTHING.

This is not the story we want to read when it comes to 9/11. We want to read a different story. We NEED to read a different story. We need a story that shows us the beauty of mankind, if only to help balance the horror of that day. That day showed us how evil man can be.... we need to know irrefutably how precious  and how meaningful each life was that we lost that day. And we need to hear that those of us who remain can find hope and healing amongst the rubble.

The Mediocre Mama

That's me. 

The one who is not an expert at ANYTHING.

Oh sure, I can cook, bake, and clean. I make sure the red shirts stay out of the white sock loads... 
I usually remember to pick my kids up on time, am generally not too late arriving at functions.

Stuck backpack zippers? Stubborn shoelace knots? Untucked bedsheets? My forte, apparently.

This lack of specialization can bring a woman down. What can I do well? Maybe even, dare I say it, especially well?

We all have our gifts, that I know.  And I can give you a laundry list of exactly what my gifts are NOT.
Crafting (in any sense of the word) comes to mind as #1 on that list. Being organized is a close second.

I pondered this question as I stood outside the other day, minding Little Dude while shooting hoops with Action Man.

I thought of it again as I haphazardly stitched together an errant seam in one of Little Dear's skirts.

I was reminded of it while kicking the soccer ball around with Sports Fan at one of Little Boo's games.

And I realized... I have just enough.  Just enough skill and know-how to be the mom to these kids.  These specific children placed in my care...

I may not be able to beat my 14 year old at a game of H-O-R-S-E, but I can make a good showing of it.

I can stop my 12 year old from deking around me with a soccer ball, at least 80% of the time. And probably deke him out just as often, still. (well, at least for now... expecting to see that number dwindle rapidly)

I can stitch a (somewhat) straight line... and years ago actually used a sewing machine to make jedi robes for the boys. (swoon!)

Little Dear defers to me during her baking adventures.

Sports Fan listens to my soccer advice during his games.

Action Man comes to me for Latin difficulties.

Little Boo lets me help her with Math. (That's about it, but I'll take it. :P)

And I'm still pretty much the center of Little Love's universe. (Can you say "baby-girl"?)

As a mom-of-many, I have a lot of hats to don. The personalities and preferences of my children dictate which hats are the most important ones. And while I'll never be that perfect, put-together, uber-organized paragon of expertise...

I'll be me. That mediocre Mama who has just enough wisdom, grace, and soccer-skills to get the job done.
:P