The Elephant Mother I Want To Be

The part of mothering I have yet to grasp is the letting go. I should have known this was going to always be my personal struggle from the very instant I became a new mom. After my daughter was born, when they were about to cut the umbilical cord, I felt a moment of panic. I knew the second they cut that cord, my baby was on her own, no longer solely needing me to be her lifeline. There was a selfish sadness that came over me knowing that I now had to share her; she belonged to her father and extended family just as much as she belonged to me. I went through that same short-lived mourning with each of my children's births. It should be no surprise really, that 18 years later I still struggle with sharing my children only this time it's not really sharing as much as it is giving them over to themselves.

Last Saturday, Amanda had a special day planned with a group of friends. They were going to the Cheesecake Factory for lunch and spending the afternoon shopping. I was spending the day at a scrapbook store working on my nephews' scrapbooks. I wasn't at all surprised when Amanda called me but as the conversation went on . . .

"Hi Mom. Guess what I did."

"Oh, I don't know, what?" I replied, thinking this ordinarily budget conscience girl spent $50 on something frivolous.

"I got my cartilage pierced."

I froze in time. I knew exactly what she meant but since I didn't want that to be true, I tried to convince myself it meant something else. Dead silence -- the kind that seems to last forever.

"Where?" I was still in denial but all the while, a surge of emotions were welling up in me, like a tiny wave in the ocean that was growing into a foamy white-capped tidal wave.

"My ear Cartilage Mom, where else could it be?"

"Oh. I don't know."

More dead silence. I was confused at my own reaction and couldn't think of anything to say, "So -- did it hurt?"

"No, not really. I mean, not as much as I thought it was going to."

"Oh.", was all I could reply, still at a loss for words.

"So are you mad?", she asked with a slight quiver in her voice that tugged a little at my heart.

"No, I'm not mad." And I really wasn't at all. "How much did it cost?", I asked just to fill the awkward silence. At this point, did it matter? What was I going to do? Tell her that was too expensive to take it back?

"Well, it was $20 but that includes the earring. But I didn't get just one I got a pair so I have an extra now. And I also got the cleaning solution so for all that, it wasn't bad, you know?"

I was sad how she was trying to justify it to me and I knew she was in some way seeking my approval, albeit AFTER the deed was done. I wanted to give it to her, the approval she was seeking but there was an awful nagging feeling inside of me I just could not shake. More silence.

"I told you I was going to do it, remember? Remember that one time I was going to have it done but I didn't have my ID with me?"

"Yes, I remember but well . . . . okay, if that's what you wanted, it's your ear. So I'll talk to you later."

When I hung up I couldn't name this feeling I had. I was in a state of shock, of sorts and it was really bugging me. I sat down and thought it out. It was just an ear piercing. It wasn't a tattoo, a full body pierce or anything very drastic at all. She didn't get one of those awful gauges in her ear. I had to keep asking myself what was wrong and then it hit me. It wasn't the fact that she did it; it was the fact that she could do it without me. She didn't need my parental permission and mostly, she didn't call to tell me about it before hand. Yes, Amanda was exercising her legal adult status and that's what was so bothersome to me. I sat and thought about it and then I remembered the elephant.

I've always admired elephants because in the animal kingdom, they are by far the best mothers. Maybe it's that 22 week gestation period that bonds them to their young, I don't know but whatever it is, I love an elephant's maternal instincts. For instance, an elephant Mom will stand over its sleeping baby and not move until he wakes up. If she does however; need to leave, a babysitter, usually an Aunt (yes, a real sister of the Mom) or older female sibling, will stand in the mom's place until she returns. In one documentary I saw about elephants, a young calf died and the mother was grief stricken. I don't know if animals have emotions or robotically operate out of instinct but it was clear to me in this instance, this mother knew exactly what had happened and was mourning the loss of her young. When the rest of the herd was ready to leave, this pachyderm mom could not bring herself to leave the body of her baby. She kept standing next to him, stroking him with her trunk and letting out sighs and slight cries. She tried to walk away a few times but each time she would turn around and go back and nudge the baby again. At one point, she even tried to pick him up to take him with her. The herd finally convinced her to leave but as she walked away her mourning spirit was evident in the way she walked with her head down and slowly dragged her feet onward. During this documentary, this particular herd was followed for months, maybe even years. Months after that death, the herd was traveling back and when they reached the spot to where the dead baby had been left, they all gathered around as if to have a memorial service. They knew exactly what had happened there and collectively, they seemed to reflect on their loss. The mother let out a few cries and once again when it was time to leave, she lingered on at the spot. The herd gave her space and patiently waited as if to say to her, "We know it still hurts, you take all the time you need."

A female elephant might stay in their family unit for the rest of their lives; it's only the males that have to leave and start a family of their own. There is a strong sense of belonging and family unit to elephants. A mother never forgets who her babies are and no matter how old they are, she has a difficult time resigning them to their own lives.

In contrast, an Eagle is an equally befitting mother but not in the same manner of an elephant. The Eagle cares and nurses her young but when it's time to go, it's just time to go! When the eaglet is too big for the nest, the mother knows it's time to let that baby go. What seems to me a harsh dose of reality, the mother pushes her baby out of the nest, allowing it to tumble through the air -- plunging dangerously close to the ground. Just before the baby is to meet its demise, the mother swoops in with her majestic wings and catches her falling baby on her back. She takes it back up to the nest and pushes it out again, doing this time and time again until the eaglet finally catches on and begins to flap his own wings. In the weeks to follow the young eagle gets other life lessons like how to hunt for food but soon the bird is ready to be independent and without any sorrowful good-byes, the young eagle leaves the nest one final time and the mother and baby know each other no more.

I really wish I could be the elephant mother and have my children in my herd forever but I know I need to learn some lessons from the Eagle as well. In the bible God often uses the animal kingdom to illustrate a relationship; throughout the bible we are compared to sheep. So it's not unusual to gain human understanding from the animal world.

I have no objection to an ear piercing. I do not think it's immoral or in bad taste however; I do have to look at that earring in Amanda's ear and it shouts out to me, "I'M ALL GROWN UP NOW. YOU CAN'T STOP ME!" It mocks me and laughs at me sometimes and that is what I find so bothersome.

It's so cruel that we have to be elephant mothers for 18 years and then suddenly trade our trunks in for the wings of an eagle. But I am learning.

And Amanda is soaring.

A Dome To Remember

Our 14 year old twin nephews, McKenzie and McKorie, are spending the summer with us. They're from a sleepy little town, Douglas, deep in the southern parts of rural Georgia. They've already been impressed with Dayton as "big city living" so imagine how impressive Indianapolis could be. We had to take Monica to the Art Institute of Indianapolis for a week long workshop she's attending so we decided to take the opportunity to show the boys the city, lest they think Dayton truly is big city living! They are both huge NFL fans though not specifically a Colt's fan, they were nonetheless excited to see the RCA dome. I explained to them we'd only see the outside but they seemed satisfied with that.

We got Monica dropped off and situated then made our way downtown. We parked in a garage and as we made our way outside, I began to wonder if we really were wasting our time. It was, after all, just the outside of the dome. How exciting could it possibly be? We walked the block or so to the dome and there it stood before us. Impressive, I think, its dome-shaped enormous size with a magnificent set of steep stairs leading up to the main entrance, befitting a historic statehouse of architectural relevance. Equally impressive, though with a more modern flare, are the huge banners that are draped on the sides of the dome with action pictures of the players. Yes, impressive indeed and yet a bit anti-climatic as well. Within a few minutes of seeing the dome you realize that's it. There's nothing else to do or see and in fact, with out the hustle and bustle of a pre-game crowd, the experience isn't all that spectacular.

Typical tourist looking folks, we stood on the stairs snapping pictures of boys. I felt a bit of let down, like the air was being slowly let out of a tire, as I climbed down the long stairs back to street level. I wished it had been football season. Just standing outside of the dome didn't seem like enough. I looked down to the bottom of the stairs and saw Jerry talking to who I thought was a police officer. I quickly looked back at the boys, making sure they were not engaging in any inappropriate behavior that would draw the officer's attention. I mean, they were sliding down the hand rails and had been sitting on the embankment of the stairs posing for pictures but nothing destructive or obnoxious. As I approach Jerry and the gentleman, I notice he's a security guard and not a police officer. I thought he was going to chase us away but having all the pictures I had hoped to get, I was satisfied with that. Typical Jerry -- he was talking to the security guard as if they were long lost friends. By this time, the boys were also making their way towards us and I could see in their demeanor, they too thought we might be getting a slight scolding. As the boys were approaching the security guard said, "So which one of you is a Colt's fan?" All three boys, the nephews and Zach, looked at each other and none claimed to be a Colt's fan. Ugh! Even I, the least football knowledgeable person on this earth had sense enough to if not claim the Colt's as a favorite team, at least throw some accolades their way! We were standing on their home turf. Show the Colt's some love! The security guard smirked and said, "Well, that's too bad. I'm really sorry to hear that because if you were a fan I would've taken you inside but being you really don't . . . " McKenzie then cut in saying, "Well, I'm not a fan but I like 'em. I like the Colt's and they sure are good." Good save, a desperate flailing attempt at a recover but an overall good save. "Here's what I can do for you then," the security guard continued, "they're working on the field so I can't get you onto that but you can see the field and possibly the locker rooms too, would you like that?" They were speechless, those boys were. All they could do was nod their heads. I looked over at McKenzie and as he would later describe this instance to his mother, "Auntie Melissa and I just looked at each other with our jaws dropped down to our knees."

The guard took us through a special entrance and though it might not be the one the players use, that's what I like to think it was. We walked down a long circular hallway. The hallway itself wasn't anything spectacular but as we were walking along I imagined all the great football players that had trod this way over the years. I'm not a big football fan or for that matter, any sports fan. I mean, I love my hometown Chicago teams but certainly not to the extent I go to any games or even follow the seasons very closely. I'm also not very easily star struck but here I was walking down this hallway as giddy as any grade school girl ever was. I could tell we were in a restricted area that not everyone gets to see. Though the dome was as dead as a western ghost town, there was still a sense of game-time excitement in the air. You could almost hear the cleats clicking along the cement floors. We walked passed some glass doors that lead out onto the field and we almost stopped to take a look but our tour guide was steady walking ahead, so onward we went. As we walked along our guide warned us of two things. First of all, he said not to expect what you see on TV as the field appears much smaller in person that on TV. Secondly he warned us that once he opened the door, we would feel a gush of wind since the dome of the stadium is kept up by air. We prepared ourselves on both accounts.

We soon were standing in a hallway that to me, looked a lot like a backstage area. There just ahead you could see the field and the bright white dome that capped the stadium. The boys were excited. I knew they were. I could feel it. We were standing at the very entrance the players use to go onto the field. Can't you just see it, feel it, and hear it -- all that football frenzy? There was yellow caution tape that blocked off entrance to the field so we couldn't step onto it but we were close enough! The boys all posed for pictures and our guide continued with our mini tour not before, however, McKorie reached down and ran his hand over the grass-like turf and exclaimed, "I touched it. Now I can say I touched that field!"

We then walked through what almost seemed like a series of mazes, still in a restricted area. We came upon a lounge where certain season ticket holders could come and hang out with the players before and after the games. It looked like some cheap bus station diner; I was very disappointed in that portion of it. And then there just ahead, we saw the signs, "Locker Room". Oh we were terribly dorky as we giggled and awed at just a stupid little sign.

The locker room wasn't at all what I expected. First of all, it was quite small. I mean there we stood in it completely empty and it seemed no larger than my own basement. Imagine it full of big bulky players, equipment, coaches, and staff -- and as I did imagine all of that, I realized just how tiny of a room it really was. There were no lockers in there, despite its name, but instead wooden cubbies with hooks, a lot like what you see in daycare centers. Cubbies, ha! That word makes me laugh when I think of some big burly man hanging his things inside of it. Placed in each locker (for the good of their manliness and due respect of their world champion status, I can no longer refer to them as cubbies) was a folding blue chair and though it was cushioned and plush, it didn't seem big enough or important enough for an NFL player. So though those things were a bit disappointing to me, the boys remained in awe. They each took out a chair and I took a picture of them sitting on it. And even in my own let downs, I was still very aware of where we were and what it meant to these young men that were with me. Getting caught up in the moment myself, despite beating my beloved Bears, I was a Colt's fan true and true, if only for a small slice in time.

We made our way back out of the winding hallways to the main street entrance. I was sad, just a little, that we were leaving. We couldn't thank our thoughtful guide enough, whose name shall remain anonymous because he told us he really wasn't supposed to allow people into the stadium. Before heading back to the van we took a few more pictures all the while McKenzie exclaiming over and over, "Now ain't this something!"

And it really was something.

Next big city tour, Chicago but I'm seriously doubting we'll get a personal tour of Soldiers Field.

Random Acts of Nothing

So some time ago I committed myself to performing Random Acts of Kindness. Honestly, I have not done so well with keeping up with it; being keenly aware of needs around me however, I have done a few things. Imagine, would you, if every person would just do one random nice/helpful thing a day. It could be a John Lennon song, really.

I've run into stumbling blocks along the way and it baffles me and frustrates me. Do you know most people don't want help? My offers have been turned down far more than accepted. I understand, sadly, we live in a world where you can't trust people you don't know and sadder still, people automatically get suspicious of someone offering help. What's the hidden agenda?

None.

I just want to help.

There is an old man I often see walking from our local Wal-Mart carrying bags of groceries. He walks with a heavy limp and his face always looks strained as if he's in pain or the effort of walking is quite a labor for him. He walks in every sort of weather condition. I know his journey is long because the direction in which he's headed is a business district and there is not any residential housing for miles. I have stopped on many occasions offering him a ride, each time he gives me an angry look, shakes his head no and if he has a free hand, waves me off. He's annoyed, simply annoyed that I even offer.

I think about this man a lot and wonder what makes him so angry when he's offered a ride. I've seen other people stop and offer him rides too and he reacts the same way. Maybe he just likes to walk. Maybe he's offended by people feeling sympathetic towards him. Maybe he fears his safety. Maybe he's just a proud stubborn man.

Pride.

Yesterday leaving Wal-Mart we saw a man and woman standing along side the road with a sign that read, "Family needs food. Please help." Ugh. I hate that! Well, I do sort of hate begging because, "For even when we were with you, this we commanded you, that if any would not work, neither should he eat." (2 Thessalonians 3:10) and that seems clear enough to me. But that's not what I hate. I hate to see a family in need, it makes me quite sad. You never know a person's circumstances -- how they got to be in such need. I wanted to go talk to the couple and if I determined they were not just swindlers, get them some groceries but I was in traffic and in the wrong lane to approach them so I couldn't make it. I set out to go home and go back but no sooner than the image of them standing on the side of the road left my eyes, I had forgotten all about them. I wonder if they went to bed hungry. I did not.

I'm such a poor Random Kindness person.

Now I am just left frustrated. People don't want help. That's mostly true. Those that need the help the most seem to be full of either pride or fear. Those that just want to get something for nothing are more than eager to accept a free-hand offering. I try to stay clear of them. Maybe I approach people with an air of arrogance. I hope not. It's not my heart nor my intention. Maybe I look all scary in my "soccer mom" van. I just don't know.

" . . .From everyone who has been given much, much will be demanded; and from the one who has been entrusted with much, much more will be asked." (Luke 12:48). I don't live in a mansion, ivory tower or even a very large home. I don't have luxury cars, expensive jewelry or a big fancy wardrobe. As far as having "much", I don't live like that. However; I have much more than I need and that compels me to give.

I'm just so bad at it, I guess.

Current State of Things

So I see I have a huge blog following.

Not.

I don't have any interesting stories to tell.

Or political opinions either.

Well, I have them but I'm not posting them.

Because who would read them?

Or care.

But the world is still turning.

For now.

And life goes on.

For instance . . . . .

Niece - college grad

Another niece - college grad & married

Daughter - new job at the YMCA

Another daughter - no job

Son - ditto

Nephews - 14 year old twins spending summer with us

Grocery bill - outrageous

Boss - gone

New boss - not yet

Asthma - back

Breathing - labored

Dinner - chicken

Twin boys + Zach + Jerry - make that 2 chickens

Gist - mostly

Blast From The Past

This is an old story I wrote -- about 4 years ago. . . . . .


Terrible Twos vs. Tormenting Teens

I don't see what the big deal is about the Terrible Twos. Though it's only a distant memory in my past, I seemed to have emerged unscathed from the trio-ed event in my life. It is true that by age two a child gets a sense of independence with the belief that the entire universe revolves around their schedule to eat, sleep and play. Their favorite words, which they utter all day long, are emphatically stated, "No!" and "Mine!”. They begin to realize there's a whole world out there and it's theirs to discover but of course, the discovery must be met on their own terms. Mothers are in a constant battle of Terrible Twos vs. Parental Guidance. It's an exhausting adventure, at best. You get through the tantrums and trying days but there is something marvelous that gives you hope and strength to do it all the next day. When that terrible toddler is hungry, sick, scared or tired guess what she does? She calls for the comforting arms of her mommy. Just about the time you're ready to strap your toddler into a playpen and design a mesh lid to fit over the top of it, that wadding little bundle of terror climbs onto your lap and puts her chubby little arms around your neck. Who couldn't love that? Taking a quantum leap into the future, take that same sense of independence and self-centered nature, mix it in with raging hormones and peer pressure, pack it into a full grown body that has a license to drive and my friend, welcome to the world of parenting a teen. Terrible Twos? Please! That only lasts one year. With teenagers we're talking seven years. You can forget any light of hope because when that teen is hungry, sick, scared or tired, they're just ticked off because it's your fault. That's right! You and only you make their world the miserable existence it is. After all, you are the most stupid unreasonable creature on the face of the earth. Everything must be your fault! One day you are Mommy of the Year for simply bringing in a couple dozen cupcakes to a Halloween class party and the next day, you have no sense of style, your music is old fashioned and boring, everything you say or do is stupid, your expectations are unfair and unreasonable and you don't know hip language which makes you nothing more than an embarrassment in public. In the midst of raising three teens, I'm quickly learning the dos and don'ts of public behavior. Essentially, when in public, behave like you don't know me. That's what your teens want. Yes, the Terrible Twos are just the dress rehearsal for the Tormenting Teens.

Having the joy of two teenaged daughters, we have a tri-cycle of hormones bouncing off the walls in our home. It's like playing hormone bumper pool in our house. As if dealing with my own PMS isn't bad enough, now I have to be on the receiving end of my daughters' PMS swings. You would think being a woman I'd be a little sympathetic to my own child's estrogen surges but this is survival of the fittest instincts. The dominate female of the pride prevails! Cruel and heartless as it may sound, estrogen somehow overtakes even motherly instincts. Forget that smoke detector we have installed on each level of the house, I need an estrogen detector at my house!

Much like my alarm clock, my Estrogen Detector (ED) will go off each morning giving me the estrogen levels of the day. When pollen hits a certain level there are warnings for those afflicted with allergies to stay indoors. My ED will warn me when it's unsafe to remain in the home. When the estrogen levels are light, my ED will sound a bell detecting some slight levels of estrogen in the house. With this, I'll causally get up and go through my morning routine as usual. As levels increase, the ED will be more alarming like the Lost in Space robot giving repetitious signals, "Warning, Warning...estrogen is peaking!” At this yellow light alarm, I'll proceed with caution making sure I keep my distance, shut my mouth, don't make eye contact and move out swiftly. The last and final warning will be the tornado, fire alarm, burglar alarm, Cuban missile crisis and weapons of mass destruction all-in-one alarm. The ED will say, "WARNING! WARNING! HIGH LEVELS OF ESTROGEN DETECTED IN THE HOME. RUN FOR COVER! GET OUT! EVERY WOMAN FOR HERSELF! TIME IS OF THE ESSENCE! DO NOT STOP FOR THE FAMILY PHOTO ALBUMS! DO NOT PASS GO! DO NOT COLLECT $200! SAVE YOURSELF!" With this high leveled warning, I'd jump out of bed, grab my clothes and emergency toiletry bag and make a mad dash out of the house before any contact is made with the estrogen spewing teens. For extra protection, I'll be armed with my Wonder Woman estrogen deflector wrist bands. These golden wonders work like Wonder Woman's bullet bands. As I make my mad dash out of the house, I can raise my arms to block any estrogen attacks such as, "This is so unfair, you are so mean, I need $50, where are you going? (as if my going to work in the morning is a sudden shock to the girls), I have nothing to wear, my hair is so dumb....Mom! I need to go shopping, why can't I have my own car? Why are you looking at me? Stop looking at me................"

After spending eight long hours at work, I will eventually have to come home. Knowing the dangerous estrogen will probably still be present, I've come up with a solution for reentry. NASA spent 4 billion dollars on some rocket scientist invention for protecting the Apollo passengers from the heat of reentering the atmosphere. I've come up with my own $2.48 protective solution. As if to wave the proverbial white flag, I ease the door to a slight opening and wave a 99 cent bottle of nail polish and $1.49 lip gloss. At this Monica, my youngest teen, grabs the loot and scurries to her den like a mouse that has won the cheese without being caught in the trap. In this instance, the trap is conversation with Mom. With that potential Claymore mine disarmed, I then wave a Miami application through the tiny opening in the door. My oldest teen, Amanda, snatches her loot and now both teens are deep into their teenaged fortresses. The bait has worked. I just bought myself two hours of estrogen free peace and quiet.

After the two hours of solitude, Amanda emerges from her den. I raise my arms to engage my Wonder Woman deflectors only to realize she's just passing through on her way to the computer. She gets online to research the average ACT/SAT scores of high school students accepted into Miami. She then gets offline to call her high school counselor (she has her on speed dial) to inform her that she needs to get into French IV. "But Amanda," her counselor explains, "you are only a junior and we can't get your senior schedule together yet." I know," Amanda states as she tries to remain clam, "but I thought I didn't want to take French for four years but now I see most Miami students have four years of a foreign language and I thought if I plan ahead, I won't miss the opportunity to get into French IV. I need to be in French IV. I have to be in French IV. PLEASE GET ME A RESERVED SEAT IN FRENCH IV!" Poor woman, I think to myself about the counselor, she has no idea the estrogen levels have peaked for the month! The counselor then mumbles something to Amanda about a restraining order and unlisted phone number. Confused by her own PMS status, Amanda retreats to Miami website for some more in depth research. Ah, I bought another hour of solitude. Meanwhile, back in the Gloss & Shimmers of Sweetness Den, Monica is trying to determine if her new shade of nail polish and lip gloss looks better applied in stripes, polka dots or jut plain. She's arranged every piece of clothing she owns to match the new shades but it was an easy task to accomplish as all she had to do was sit on the floor, the place where most of her clothing gathers and lives. As I tip toe around my own home, I hear my ED dwindle down to a mere hum noting it's once again safe to resume a "normal" life. At this, my girls emerge from their dens. Monica proudly displays her painted nails saying, "Thanks for the nail polish, Mom. I like the sparkles." Amanda comes to me with a printed out form from the Miami website saying, "Mom, what do you think about this?" I know it's just the quiet before the next storm but I savor the moment just like I did when that terrible two toddler climbed onto my lap with her chubby little arms around my neck saying, "I wuv you Mommy!"

As I walk out of the room I hear the girls say, "Hey Mom, what's up with those gold bracelets? You aren't going to wear those in public, are you?"

Last Day!

It's official. As of today, Amanda has completed a full year of college. This was by far the fastest year of my lifetime.

This time last year I was trying to hold back the constant stream of tears every time I thought about Amanda graduating and going off to college. I couldn't imagine a day without her in our home. What a difference a year makes! Today I'm worried how she's going to transition back into our family life and daily routines.

Just a few more weeks of school and Monica will officially be a senior. What a road trip this has been -full speed ahead! In a flash, Amanda will be graduating college along with Zach graduating high school. And then . . .

FREEDOM!

No Words

Nothing at all to say that can fanthom the shootings that took place today at Virginia Tech. Lives lost. Tragedy ensued. Unanswered questions.

At this very moment parents and family members are waiting, wondering, hoping, praying, seeking . . . .

and for once I am left speechless.

Happy 53rd Birthday To Me!

That's right, today I turned 53 and I know I don't look a day over 44. I'm usually not one to get excited about birthdays and it really has nothing at all to do with my age or wanting to conceal my age. I'm an open book when it comes to the fact that I was born in 1963 and don't bother doing the math, that does indeed make me 53 today. Ask Sophie, my 4 year old niece. I talked to her on the phone today and she said, "You look really good for 53." She's a smart girl that Sophie is.

But this is not ALL ABOUT MELISSA DAY -- Oh wait, yes it is.

My birthday celebration actually began on April 7th when Amanda, our oldest, was home from school for the Easter weekend. Wanting to have the entire family together for my gift presentation, they decided to give me my birthday gift early. Previously I said I don't get excited about birthdays but I LOVE presents and surprises! My family pulled off a very nice surprise. They gave me a nano i-pod in my favorite spring green color. The back was simply engraved, "We love you!". This was no simple task --acquiring this i-pod. First, Jerry had to transfer funds into Amanda's bank account so I would not see the charge made to the apple store on our account. Sneaky those two, aren't they? The package was shipped to Amanda at school. I love when people connive behind my back --when it culminates in a present for me! Conniving to let's say err -- "do me in" would be less thrilling. In addition to the i-pod, Amanda made me two CD mixes. One was songs she knew I liked such as "I Think I Love You" by David Cassidy. Coincidentally, it is David's birthday today too (This is the second blog I've mentioned David -- kind-a creepy scary, huh?). The second was a Christian mix. Immediately after giving me the i-pod, Amanda went to work on downloading all my music to i-tunes and synching my i-pod. She actually spent a lot of time getting it all set up for me.

On my actual birthday I wasn’t expecting any fanfare. Having dropped a pretty penny on the i-pod, I pretty much figured Jerry and the kids would feel they were “off the hook” for any further celebrations. I expected nothing at work – having not even entertained the idea of any birthday celebration at work. I mean – there was that office wide email I sent the day before, “SUBJECT: Melissa’s Birthday”, where I listed my favorite desserts and gifts ideas but I couldn’t be sure it was sent in time for the staff to pool their money together and get the shopping done. Okay no, I didn’t send an office-wide email and I didn’t expect a birthday celebration either.

Earlier in the day Andy, one of our managers, said he had an HR issue to discuss with me. He asked a lot of questions about when I’d be available and what time I was going to lunch. I should have suspected something right then and there because normally Andy just barges down to my desk demanding things. Okay well no, Andy never barges down to my desk and he is anything but demanding. That was just an attempt in inject something exciting into this otherwise boring birthday blog [insert yawn -- but A+ on my use of alliteration].

Meanwhile, back in Gotham City . . . .

Staying focused is difficult when you’re 53.

I go into Andy’s office to discuss a rather simple HR matter in which Andy’s propensity for deceit, drags the matter out. All the while the staff, complete with ice cream cake, gathers in the conference room. Coincidentally, last year they pulled off the same thing and yes, it was Andy who called me into his office to discuss some made-up matter. They got me twice yes but next year I’ll be onto them. As we’re leaving the conference room Andy did mention he had another matter to discuss with me but it could wait until April 12, 2008. I wonder what that’s all about.

Later when I got home as I waked into the house the smell of cake filled the air. I went into the kitchen to find Monica cleaning up the last of the baking dishes and an array of beautifully decorated cupcakes on the counter. Zach was beside himself with excitement, urging me to check my email. I logged onto my AOL account where I found an e-card Zach sent me. The sentiment was precious, “Hi mom took me a hour to figure this out but its all worth it love you bye and all that jazz”. I could just see Zach frustrated as he attempted technology unfamiliar to him, sending an e-card. He was determined to get it and that was the sentiment I appreciated the most however; I had to chuckle at “and all that jazz” as if to say in his 15 year old boyish mind, “and all that mushy stuff Moms like”.

I’ve never read the book The Five Love Languages but from what I know about it, I think my love language is receiving gifts. I do love getting gifts but before you brand me materialistic and delete my blog from your list of favorites (my blog is on your list of favorites, right???), let me explain. I love the thought behind gifts. I love the weeks of planning it took Jerry and Amanda to pull off the purchase of the i-pod. I love the engraving on the back of the i-pod. I love the CD mixes Amanda made for me. I love Monica taking time to not only bake cupcakes but the time she spent to creatively decorate each one. I love how Zach stayed determined to learn a new e-technology skill and his 15 year old boyish expression of love. Seemingly small, those things are huge expressions of love to me. You see, it’s not the i-pod that’s so meaningful to me but what it represents.

As I stated earlier, I don’t get all excited about birthdays but I do think that this annual event in each of our lives should cause us to pause and reflect on the previous year. I am a year older, yes but am I a year better too? I want to better.

In recent months, God has given me a thirst for his Word, a hunger that cannot be satisfied. It makes me wonder what He’s up to. I want to be ready. I want to be willing. In looking ahead to my 54th year, I want more and more to become the woman God has purposed me to be. Growing into that person will require some things in my life to be pulled into the light. I sense this coming. Don’t you hate it when you are fast asleep in a dark room and someone comes in and floods the room with bright lights? It startles you and you have no idea what’s going on. The brightness stings at first and then there’s a period of adjustment before you can see clearly. Sometimes God will find something in us he demands be brought into the light. It might sting at first and take a while to adjust but eventually, we will clearly see His will and His way. I pray I can be obedient and ready.

Thank you to everyone that participated in my birthday celebration. I look forward to the upcoming year. "I raise my hands and praise the God who gives and takes away.", may it be my sincere lifesong.

Post Comment: In a vain attempt to make people think she looks very young for her age, the writer claimed this as her 53rd birthday when in fact, she’s only a mere 44. She now sees the error of her lying ways.
Post Comment 2: Andy does not have a propensity for deceit.
Post Comment 3: Sophie is still a very smart girl.

Post Comment 4: This got posted a day after my birthday.

Happy Birthday, David! I Think I Love You!

ENOUGH IS ENOUGH!

Two names I wish would be forever and ever omitted from any news source -- Anna Nicole Smith and Brittany Spears. I've had it! I'm done with it! I DON'T CARE! And while I'm at it, why don't I just throw Nicole Richie and Paris Hilton into that same hopper.

It's not just the downward spiral of their lives that disinterests me, but all this publicity over bad behavior just scares me. It scares me to know this is what our society is craving -- intruding in on people's personal lives at any cost. I can't completely blame the media because trust me, if "WE THE PEOPLE" weren't so caught up on getting the dirt, the media wouldn't publish one iota of news about it. They give the people what they want because that's what sells. I'm not just talking tabloid news sources. These woman have been featured on top news programs and newspapers. Recently I was working out at the YMCA where there are 4 TV's you can watch while on the treadmill. CNN's top story, to which they devoted a full hour of coverage, was Anna Nicole's funeral. CNN?

We've stooped too far, America! In one way we idolize celebrities (author's note: I refuse to categorize Anna Nicole Smith as a celebrity but to simplify this writing, I won't make the distinction) and rush out to buy their endorsed products but yet, we triumph in their downfall. We want to crash their fairytale weddings crowning them as America's favorite couple but when the marriage ends in divorce we puff our chests out saying, "I knew that would never last."

The media publishes what sells. I get that. I get they have a job to do and money talks. I do get that however; they also have a moral and social responsibility of which should not be taken lightly. If they stop talking about Anna Nicole's funeral, people will forget about it and lose interest. Even if by some chance the results of Anna's Nicole's baby's DNA warrants top news coverage in our country, do we really need a minute by minute update? Do we need to have a play-by-play account? Do we needs these daily updates of what the judge ordered, when the DNA sample was taken, what country it will take place in, what lab will process it, how long it will take, who will oversee the process -- and these are just things I have heard in passing. Not only have I not followed this story, I've taken measures to avoid it but even still, I probably know more about Anna Nicole's funeral than my own maternal grandfather's.

There are so many things we can devote our time and attention to; soldiers and our military members getting insufficient health care, 9 million children in America have no health insurance, over 70% of African American babies are born to unwed mothers, there are over 350 orphans in Cambodia most of which will be sold into sex slavery or used as drug runners, Health care in America is DOUBLE the cost in any other country in the world, teachers and educators are underpaid and over worked, victims of Katrina are still displaced from their homes and out of work, globally 1.1 billion people have no access to safe drinking water --just to name a few. These things deserve our attention and our resources. I have other ideas too. What if the daily news programs would feature a "Dead Beat Dad of the Day" showing the picture and last known whereabouts of Dads that refuse to pay child support. Why don't they show pictures and profiles of local children that are awaiting adoption. Heck -- I'd rather see pets that are awaiting adoption on the news than Brittany Spears' shaven head!

Since age 10, after getting over my David Cassidy infatuation, I've never been a "fan" type person. I admire people's talents and work and I even enjoy an occasional issue of People magazine (especially the Best and Worse Dressed issues) but after that, I hope I give my time and my concerns to much bigger issues that plague our nation and our world. I'm not saying we can't enjoy Hollywood and celebrities and we can big HUGE fans of people but like anything, we can take things too far.

The fact that $30,000 was spent on Anna Nicole's funeral is not a testament to how loved or rich she was but a testament to, sadly, how shallow her life must have been. Sadder still, our society's thirst for stories such as these.

Another Toy Story

When somebody loved me . . . . . . .

I always enjoyed each stage of development my children were in and with three kids so close in age, they were all practically right at the same stages at the same time. But quite often, I couldn't wait for the next stage, the next big thing! I couldn't wait for them to walk, talk, potty train, go to school -- Though enjoying my children right where they were at, I anticipated the next stage like a child on Christmas Eve night awaiting Santa's arrival.

No sooner than finding myself in a new stage with my children, I mourned for the child that was left behind. Oh how I loved my toddler walking around the house discovering himself and his world but how I missed that tiny little baby that used to be content to just let me hold him. I still do that sometimes. Now the mother of three teenagers, I still miss my babies and toddlers and small children. I mostly miss their wonderment and how they soaked up life like a sponge. Don't get me wrong, I love these teenagers and this stage in life too. I love how they are independent (sometimes). I love to see them makes choices for themselves. I even love how confused they can be at times because it's all part of this age. I can't help it though, there are times I wish I can step back 5 or 10 years if just for a day. Just a few nights ago, it happened. I got that chance.

It could not have been planned because chance was the only factor of success in this night. It evolved from boredom, mostly, and a sense of nostalgia that somehow swept us up. It was the night I got to play dolls with my 17 year old daughter and 15 year old son. It was a sweet mix of the past and present -- of all things I love about being a Mom.

I happened to stumble into Monica's room and we were talking and making plans for the new decor for her room. I looked under her bed, pulling out a box that contained doll clothes. She has an Addy doll and a modern doll from American Girl. With each article of clothing I pulled out of the box, a long forgotten memory was attached to it. Monica would recall a time or emotion when she played with her dolls; many of those memories involving Amanda too. I then asked Monica to get Addy out and I was very saddened to see this much neglected doll. Though she showed signs of being a once beloved toy, like her hair that Monica had braided, it was clear she was just a token of a life-stage long gone, sadly forgotten. Her hair had a white coating of dust and I know it sounds crazy and it's not really true but it was almost as if I could hear Addy saying to Monica, "Where have you been, Friend?"

Reminiscing with Addy made us think about Molly, Amanda's American Girl Doll, so we wandered into Amanda's room to find Molly. Oh poor Molly! Not only had she been sorely neglected, she was naked! A coldness ran down my spine realizing the cold lonely nights poor Molly had to endure over the past several years. Knowing Amanda likes comfort in her clothing, I gently cared for Molly and dressed her in pajamas, complete with robe and slippers. Zach, wondering what Monica and I were up to in Amanda's room, came into the room and strolled with Monica and I down a lane of memories of when the girls played with their dolls.

While still enjoying those pre-adult teenagers, I was able to step back into their childhood years when dolls were beloved, soldiers were green and plastic and Mom was the best playmate of all. Having 18 years of being a Mom, I've learned to live in each moment and taste each day because what's on tomorrow's platter will be ever changing, ever growing and yesterday will be ever gone. I still find moments when I try to wonder myself into the future of having married children and glorious grandchildren. But mostly, I try to keep my feet on the ground, focused on today -- in this very present stage of teenagers, high school and college.

. . . . and I knew that she loved me.

When She Loved Me (Jesse's Song)
when somebody loved me, everything was beautiful, every hour we spent together, lives within my heart. and when she was sad, I was there to dry her tears and when she was happy, so was I, when she loved me. through the summer and the fall, we had each other, that was all. just she and I together, like it was meant to be. and when she was lonely, I was there to comfort her. and I knew that she loved me. so the years went by, I stayed the same. and she began to drift away, I was left alone. still I waited for the day, when shed say I will always love you. lonely and forgotten, never thought shed look my way, she smiled at me and held me, just like she used to do, like she loved me, when she loved me. when somebody loved me, everything was beautiful, every hour we spent together, lives within my heart. when she loved me.

5 Minus 1 Still Equals 5

Her lack of presence in our home is not indicative to her lack of presence in our hearts. If anything-- true the old adage, "Absence makes the heart grow fonder", our hearts are full of longing for her presence in our daily lives once again.

She's only an hour away and yet in some ways, it seems like she's on another continent. The dynamics of our family changed and though it was as rapid as a roaring swollen river, the changes went mostly unnoticed to us. We knew she wasn't there, we missed her and yet -- our lives went on in very much the same fashion. For me it was just going through those daily routines as I normally would do with the only difference being, the heavy painful burden in my heart. Yes, I missed her dearly and more than wanting her home again, I just wanted her to be 3 again or 5 or 10 or anything but --a freshman in college.

August 18, 2006, Amanda moved into Collins Hall, Miami University, Oxford, Ohio.

The crying in the shower, on my way to work, at my desk, in line at the store and virtually any and everywhere stopped after the first week. I was finally able to control my emotions to the point I didn't burst into tears at the slightest thought of her. Even so, I wondered how long my heart would physically ache to see her again. I tried to remind myself of all the good things taking place like her education both formally in the classroom and informally being on her own. I tried to focus on her good health, accomplishments and future but my heart wouldn't let go so easily. The tighter I tried to hold on, the more slippery my grip became. When she was just a newborn, this first-time Mom was terrified to bathe her as the water and soap made her so slippery, I was afraid I'd loose my hold on her. Such a metaphor now to the slippery hold I have on her today, 18 years later. As she steps into adulthood, this mother's heart has to grow fuller and stronger.

Be brave. Trust God.

She's home now for Christmas break and the mellow drama of those early weeks seems to have passed. Over the past 4 months, we saw her for holiday breaks and family celebrations; including the whole family taking her out to dinner for her 18th birthday. Our family shifted some with Monica and Zach, in the absence of their older sister, becoming a bit closer. I even noticed the manner in which Jerry speaks to Amanda and how in some ways, situations related to her, the air of authority shifted from Dad to daughter. It wasn't just Mom and Dad learning to let go, it was also Amanda taking charge, stepping up and gaining control. In just 4 months, so much has changed not only in her but in all 5 of us as well.

Now that she's home for 3 weeks, I'm sad again but not like things were when she first left. I'm sad for her more so than myself. She seems to be in this limbo state in between college and home. She belongs to both places and yet, neither. As the sometimes unfortunate case of the oldest child, the parents are learning as they go. So with this new stage, Jerry and I often wonder which rules still apply to this 18 year old college girl. Dad says all of them -- Mom is less certain. We'll work it out, all of us learning as we go; Monica and Zach taking note to all things Amanda does and privileges that are afforded her. They'll try and keep the score even when they're at that stage in life.

January 7, 2007 we'll pack her up again and much like August 18th, take her to school. Having brought a lot of her belongings home for break, it will in many ways seem like move-in day once again. This day however; we'll leave a much more confident young lady behind and yes, a more emotionally stable Mom will sit in the passenger seat of the van as it pulls away from Collins Hall knowing that how ever long her absence will be, Amanda leaves our presence, never our hearts.

Growing pains seem to belong more to this Mom than her seeking teenagers. More and more my grandmother's words ring true, "When they're little they step on your toes but when they're older, they'll step on your heart."

Amanda's indelible footprints are on my heart leaving not a path of destruction and ruin but a path of growth, love, pride and thankfulness and a trodden way for her siblings to follow.

Christmas 2006

What a delightful day it was! I spent the evening of the 24th pre-cooking and preparing as much of our Christmas feast as possible. You'd be amazed how much you can get done in advance and how a simple thing like chopping onions ahead of time is a great time saver. On the 25th, I mostly had to put things into the oven and allow for baking time. That allowed me to enjoy the day with my family more.

Being teenagers having surpassed the Santa stage, my kids were in no big hurry to open their gifts. In fact, Amanda had threatened Zach with bodily harm if he dare try to wake her before 9am. Jerry and I were the only two up early and it was quite enjoyable. Jerry cooked our Christmas ham on the grill so he was in and out working on that. The house was filled with delightful scents of Monkey Bread in the oven and a roasting turkey. Though it wasn't terribly cold outside, having unseasonably warm weather all December, the warmth from our kitchen seemed to not only fill the house but our hearts and souls as well. I delighted in knowing my kids were all snug in their beds and though I was certain visions of sugar plums didn't dance in their heads, I knew the Christmas spirit would soon stir their sleepy heads.

Zach was the first to wake up. The wrapped presents under the tree beckoned him but he knew we couldn't start opening presents until everyone was up and he knew all too well not to wake the girls from their Christmas slumber. He tried to be patient. Monica was the second to wake up and I loved the sight of her groggy sleepy self walking into the kitchen and exclaiming, "Is that Monkey Bread?!!" Unfortunately, she wasn't feeling well suffering from a sore throat so I gave her a heap of pills; vitamin C, Zinc and Tylenol to help her feel better. We had to wait yet another 1/2 hour or so before the oldest child, Amanda, stumbled downstairs, only after me yelling up to her room, "Are you going to sleep Christmas away?"

The children are always torn between opening gifts first or going through their stockings. This year all three opted for the stockings first and in the wink of an eye, the stockings were an empty limp sock shape with all it's loot spilled onto the floor. Now for the big stuff!

It was all a blur to me -- the gift opening. I wanted to watch each child's expression as they opened each gift but with three going on at the same time, as my head went back and forth to each kid watching for their excited expressions, I felt like I was watching a rapid tennis match more than gift opening. Paper was being torn the thrown into the air, boxes were anxiously flipped open, there were Ahs and Ohs and excitement filled the air.

My heart was so full it felt like it would burst. It wasn't the materialistic gain that was such joy but watching my children enjoy themselves. What kept coming to mind was Luke 11:13 "If you then know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will your Father in heaven give the Holy Spirit to those who ask him!" God understands the heart of a parent as he is one! The joys we know as we give to our children are but such a minor insignificant comparison to what our heavenly Father wants to give to us. Yes, my heart was full.

Later, as we sat down to our Christmas feast, my eyes once again took in all the holiday treasures to behold. When I made out my menu it didn't seem like a lot of food but here before me our table was so full we had to put in the leaf to the table and add a second small table for some dishes. After every one had filled their plate, each serving dish barely looked like a corner had been taken. I sat amazed at the amount of food wondering how 5 people couldn't even put a dent into each dish! So much food! At this moment my heart rose to a new level of thankfulness. We had so much bounty, I was almost ashamed. Good gifts; food, shelter and family surrounded me. I couldn't thank God enough for all that was before me; a warm home, my husband, my children, food, laughter and more. Somehow this small little celebration, just the five of us, turned into one of the biggest Christmases I have ever had. There wasn't much to busy myself with and so my attentions were on that of my family. I savored each moment as much as I savored each bite of my Christmas dinner morsels.

To end the evening, we went to the movies and appropriate for the theme of my heart this day, we saw "The Pursuit of Happyness". This very touching and inspiring story line was about a man and his young son that became homeless and the journey this courageous and determined Father took to better their lives. Just this day I was so thankful for my home and my food and my family.

Christmas 2006 has not yet ended for us as this weekend we will travel to Michigan to celebrate with the Dodge family. It won't be so quiet or quaint as yesterday but it will still be filled with a lot of love and excitement and joy.

I'm blessed beyond measure.

Clayton Ink

In 1997 we built a home in Clayton, Ohio. My husband was on active duty with the Army stationed at the University of Dayton and we lived on base housing at Wright-Patterson Air Force Base. Nearing his military retirement, we decided to build a home and stay in the area.

What attracted us to the Clayton area was the quaint country living. I would have to give up the convenience of near-by shopping but I supposed the trade off was worth it. We loved the area, schools, neighborhood -- just everything. We hoped it would remain much the same but to our disappointment, it has not.

We still love where we live, our community, but now we have a Wal-mart & YMCA within a stones throw of us. Our 4-way stop-sign intersection is now a 4 lane highway with a traffic light! Right across the street from us they are building a new Clayton community center with shopping, businesses, housing and parks. We are smack dab right in the center of downtown now! So there's so much building constantly going on around us. Every week it's almost like driving through a new town. Monica, my middle child, seemed very disinterested in all of this progress. She's never commented on anything new nor seemed impressed with the new businesses and adventures all this growth has brought to our area . . . . until now.

The other day Monica and I were driving down Main Street and she noticed a new business moving into an existing building. I had not noticed it as I've just become immune to noticing every small change.

"Do you think they do body piercings too?", Monica asked me.

Huh, what? I'm so confused! Body piercings? What is she talking about? So, I ask her.

"The new tattoo place. Looks kind of small, don't you think?"

Huh, what? I'm so confused! Tattoo place? What is she talking about? So, I ask her.

"Didn't you see it? We just passed it. It's a new tattoo place."

I didn't engage too deeply into the conversation and gave a short answer and quickly changed the subject. But then a few days later we passed the same place.

"I wonder what they do inside there I mean, it looks rather small, don't you think?"

Huh, what? I'm so confused! What is she talking about? So, I ask her.

"The tattoo place, Mom. It looks too small to really do anything in there. Do you think you can get piercings done there too? I mean, don't most tattoo places do piercings too? Would it be safe? I imagine if they can do a tattoo they can pierce too. I don't know. I think if I wanted to get something pierced I'd go to a doctor's office. . . "

I'm hearing her but I'm still confused, "Monica, are you anticipating a new piercing or tattoo? What is this sudden interest in this place?"

"No, I don't want anything pierced or tattooed but I'm just wondering what they do there -- it looks so small and I wonder like, do they get a license or how do you know they are safe or good?"

So my thoughts wonder off to all the growth in our community over the past 5 years. We watched them build a brand new YMCA practically across the street from us. Not only did they put in a Wal-mart, it was a huge controversy in our neighborhood and petitions were EVERYWHERE against the retail conglomerate moving in. It was a very big deal for several years but, never no peep out of Monica. We have seen restaurants and stores and strip malls galore and still, no wonder or interest out of Monica. But now this -- a tattoo parlor has completely captured her attention. The curiosity is killing her!

Now I have no interest at all in when this place opens up for business but I think I need to look into it. On their opening day I will bring them a bouquet of flowers wishing them great success. I'll also bring them a nice glossy 8x10 picture of Monica and say, "If this girl comes in for any services what-so-ever, please call me as I'm certain her 18 year old ID will be fake."

Then again, it's only 13 short months until she really is 18 so in addition to a nice 8x10 glossy print of Monica, I might take in a nice 8x10 glossy print of Jerry (in a muscle T) and say, "This man would be very unhappy if his daughter (the former 8x10 glossy print) got ANYTHING pierced or tattooed!" Now that should put an end to that.

Oh by the way cousins, Courtney and Brittany, thanks for opening THIS door. I can hear Monica now, "But Courtney and Brittany did it."

"Yes", I will have to explain, "they got tiny little initials on their ankle for something meaningful -- not 4 inch letters across the small of their back saying, 'HOLLA-BACK if you think I'm cute!'. There is a big difference!"

Giving Thanks In My Garden

I'm not a gardener, I don't like yard work and in fact, I barely like being outside. I enjoy those modern day conveniences such as air conditioning, heat and basic shelter. I enjoy weather such as a beautiful clean snow fall, bright sunshine, moon-lit nights and even stormy days but I mostly enjoy seeing them from the comforts of my home while peering out of the window. So this is why I do not garden. I just don't want to spend that much time in the great outdoors.

Last year, in preparation for Amanda's graduation party, I was forced to work in our yard. The first time event was so significant, I even took pictures. I solicited the entire family as we did a major over haul on our yard. It was much needed and the party was just the motivation we needed to get it done.

Being unfamiliar territory to me, you can imagine my initial feelings of being overwhelmed. Where do I begin? There were some old plants that probably out lived their best years. There were some old plants that would still be very useful. There were a lot of weeds. There were some trees and shrubs that needed to be moved. I was confused. Some things were just obvious --those dead things that had to go or the thorny thistles that needed to be pulled. Some things were less obvious. Sometimes weeds disguise themselves in colors of splendor and with lack of gardening knowledge, I was sometimes confused between the flowers and the weeds. Other things were "ify". They could probably work better if I moved them around or maybe they just needed to go all together. The one thing I knew for certain I needed to do was to just take the plunge and get to work.

Inevitably, I did make some errors. I pulled plants I thought were weeds, I unintentionally trampled on good flowers, I moved things that ended up looking better where the used to be -- but over all, things were much better. It was two days of solid back-breaking work but when it was done, it was so rewarding to take a step back and see the results of our efforts. In the weeks leading to the big event, I daily walked through my yard pulling weeds, watering, fixing and admiring. The work was continuous but so was the glory of it all.

The party came and went. No sooner than saying good-bye to the last guest did I forget all about my yard. I went back to my old way of life -- staying locked in doors, not tending to the weeds in the garden, not watering the yard and basically -- just not caring.

About 2 weeks after the party Jerry left for Georgia to spend the summer working on refurbishing a home for his parents. During one of our daily phone conversations he asked, "How's the yard look?" Wow! I had no clue. I mean yes, it was right outside my door and yes, I drove by it every day (in my air conditioned van on the way to the garage and then into my air conditioned house) but it just faded into the normalcy of my passing by. I never really took it in. I then stepped out the front door to take a look and I could not believe my eyes! Could this really be that beautiful yard I worked so hard to fix up?

The grass was yellowish brown and just screaming out for water --so much so it was almost audible. The garden was over taken by weeds -- more weeds than we first started out with! Not only was there an abundance of weeds, they were huge; some of them were 2 feet tall! The once vibrant and pretty flowers wilted away. I really could not believe my eyes. I mean, I expected there would be some weeds but this was so much bigger and much worse than I imagined it would be. Well, to my husband's question I replied, "What yard?"

At the end of the summer my husband and I resolved to start fresh again in the spring and this time keep up with the work all summer long. I thought about that for a while and remembering my disdain for the outdoors I said to him, "Or we can wait two more years and just fix it all up again for Monica's graduation party."

The lessons I learned here go beyond the garden. I'm in a Bible Study with some of my co-workers. We're studying the book of Daniel and the theme of the study is INTEGRITY. During the course of this study I have often thought about my garden and how it reflects my life.

There are things I need to get rid of in my life -- the weeds, so to speak which are sin and stumbling blocks. It's not as easy as it sounds. Sometimes weeds look pretty and appealing -- as does sin in our lives. Sometimes things don't seem that bad-- like white lies for example but when left there to take root, it's not long before that white lie is 2 feet tall! When I look at my life as being a garden, I can feel over whelmed just like I did when I first began my yard work. What stays? What goes? What needs to change or be moved? What if I make a mistake?

The thing is, I will make mistakes but sometimes we have to make mistakes in order to grow. I know the process of gardening my life will be painful. After the two days of real gardening, I was sore for days. There are things in my life I will need to get rid of and though they might not have been bad things, there just wasn't room in the garden for them. It is only after we take out the weeds and unnecessary things that we can then take a step back and see the beauty and enjoy the glory.

So this is what God is leading me to embark on -- weeding out my life and moving things around where they can get more SONshine and more growth. I don't suspect it will only be a two day process as in the case of my yard but I do know one thing, it has to be a continual process. Daily I need to walk through the garden and nip those weeds that are beginning to grow. I need to water my life-garden with the nourishing Word of God. I need to prune and cut and move those things that are healthy in order for them to continue to grow.

So on this Thanksgiving Eve I resolve to garden my life and in that process, see the things I am most thankful for and tend to them daily:

A heavenly Father that cares for me enough to grow my garden.

Firmly planted family roots from all of my parents, grandparents, sisters, cousin and Aunt.

The new growth in my garden when I added a husband, brothers, nieces, nephews, in-laws and friends.

Little tiny shrubs that once were my babies that are now growing into full grown trees with blossoms and fruit. I know it won't be long before they are transplanted into their own garden so for now, I appreciate their splendor and the beauty they add to my own garden.

Happy Thanksgiving!

Boys Are Pretty Too

Things always happen for my girls first because well, they are older. It's just a natural process. So by the time the 3rd one comes along, life's special moments are still as special but they don't catch you by surprise. Or do they?

Having 3 sisters and a host of girl cousins, boys just weren't familiar territory to me. In fact, when my son, Zachary, was born he was the first boy in my family since my Dad! But it wasn't long before I learned about balls and trucks and sports and mud and all those things boys hold near and dear to their hearts. And that's how I think of my boy -- he's a rough tumbler. He smells like sweat most of the time, he LOVES to be outside, he's so loud he even talks too loud, he's always busy and bossy and boyish. Could he ever be pretty too?

Being a Freshman, my dear boy decided to go to Homecoming this year. My heart only dropped slightly instead of plummeting since he's going with a group of boys and not a girl! Now the last time I saw my boy in a tie certainly was some Easter Sunday years ago when I donned him in some dorky dressy short outfit. I can't recall seeing him in a tie since he's been over 3 feet tall!

It's just a tie! It's not like it's some flowing beautiful gown that seems a prelude to a wedding dress. It's nothing that sparkles or shines. It doesn't have a fairytale flare nor a dazzling shimmer that brings out a bright smile. It's just a tie, a piece of fabric that hangs around your neck and it's boring and black and grey and white.

So on a Friday night my husband and I take our 15 year old son shopping for his Homecoming outfit. I wasn't even sure where to begin to find man-sized dress clothes. I wasn't even sure what his personal style would be. I mean, I could filter through piles of dresses and gowns and know what my daughters would like or deem hideous. What's in a tie? What's in some black boring dress pants? We ended up at a few different stores and put together an outfit fitting for a prince! I enjoyed the entire process and even learned a few things about men's sizing. There's so much to know; pants have two sizes, shirts have well -- like a thousand numbers, jackets have two sizes and a size 14 athletic shoe is not the same as a size 14 dress shoes. Yes, I was quite educated on the subject of men's clothing. Though I enjoyed having this experience with my son, it wasn't the same as the awes and ahs and gasps my girls would let out when something shiny caught their eye. It wasn't the same as seeing my girls twirl around in a three-way mirror with a sparkle in their eye that shined brighter than any sequins on the dress. No, this was bland and plain and there we no awes and ahs and gasps and giggles.

Since we pieced the outfit together from different stores, I couldn't wait to see the whole ensemble on my son so I told him as soon as we got home he was to try everything on. We got it all; pants, shirt, tie with matching hankie for his pocket, belt, shoes, socks. Everything was black, white and grey but it was crisp and sharp and nice.

Zachary didn't know how to tie a tie and I was all too willing to teach him. Yeah, being raised a good ole Catholic girl, I learned how to tie a tie by watching all those junior high boys frantically trying to get their uniform tie back on after recess. Being caught without your tie properly tied was a big offense. But my boy said a boy should learn to tie a tie from his Dad. And that he did. Then I said to the boy, "Stand back and let me see you." And it happened.

I cried.

Almost 18 years I have been a mother and here I am still learning the process. You see it's not the dress or the tie or the sequins and sparkle but it's all about the person inside the clothes. It's the little girl that is on the brink of womanhood that brings a mother to tears upon seeing her in her first formal gown. It's the grungy dirty stinky boy all cleaned up and grown up that brings a mother to tears. At that moment when your child is all spiffy and in "big boy" clothes, images of that chubby baby boy go flashing through your mind like a life video on fast forward.

I didn't let my husband nor my son see my tears. It's not just that these manly men don't understand the emotions of a mother but in that moment, my tears were private. They were the same tears I cried when the nurse exclaimed, "It's a boy!". They were the same tears I silently cried on my pillow when I had a sickly baby. They were the same tears I cried when I put that boy on a bus to Kindergarten and the same tears that stung my eyes the first time I heard an announcer calling out the starting line-up at a baseball game, ". . . . Zaaaachareeeeee Neewwwsoooooommmme. . . . ". Yes, those were private mom tears that I wanted to keep all to myself as I relished those passing moments of my boy stepping through life and now standing at the crossing into manhood.

And he was so pretty.

Daughters and Boys and Silver-Back Gorillas

Okay so it was bound to happen one day. Our daughters were going to want to start dating and worse yet, a boy was going to take a liking to our daughter.

And it did.

Having 17 and 16 year old daughters, the past few years have not been without crushes and infatuation but nothing along the lines of "dating seriously" or real boyfriends. There was this one young man, Ethan, that had a crush on Monica. He even showered her with her favorite sweets for Valentines Day one year but this young man was terrified of Jerry and so that relationship didn't last very long. The poor lad was even too afraid to say anything when he called the house and Jerry or I would answer the phone. He would just hang up and I'd think, "Okay Ethan, we have CALLER ID!"

But the girls never really made it any easier on themselves. They would tell would-be suitors, "My Dad will pretty much kill you if you ever come over." The girls themselves were not even certain if the "no dating until your 25" rule was real or a joke but they never questioned it for fear it might actually be true.

Tyler. Senior. Boy Scout. Drummer. Northmont Drumline. Star Wars Fanatic. Monica admirer. Poor unsuspecting soul.

Tyler wants to take Monica to Homecoming so we tell Monica he must come over and ask our permission to take her to the dance and we will lay down the rules. I couldn't help but think of a line in "My Big Fat Greek Wedding" when Ian was converting to Greek Orthodox in order to marry Toula and during his baptism Toula thinks, "Any second now he's gonna look at me and say, "You're so not worth this."

Boy Scouts are brave souls. Tyler agrees to come over. At least Amanda helped put his mind at ease. Just before coming to our house Amanda and Tyler were IMing on the computer and Tyler asks Amanda for any advice and she says, "Well it really doesn't matter because my Dad pretty much doesn't like you so nothing is going to help."

Tyler has a style all his own. Sometimes his hair is spiked. Sometimes his clothes look raggy (okay, most times) and sometimes he sports a Star Wars lunch box but Tyler is who he is and most importantly, he's got the attention of our daughter.

Tyler comes over to talk to us and he pretty much comes under the pretense that Jerry and I think he's wretched soul. He comes in and sits down on the couch. Jerry is engaged in channel surfing and there's some small talk exchanged about sports, TV, etc.

I wish I had the entire visit on video because it's something I'd like to watch again and again. I rather enjoyed myself except for the times when I was feeling awful for Tyler. He sat in the corner of the couch pretty much being grilled by Jerry and I -- but mostly Jerry. I tried with all my might to be serious and strong but I couldn't help it, I mostly laughed because Jerry was trying to be so tough and mean. I will give you a few excerpts from our conversation.

In the middle of the conversation Jerry looks down and notices Tyler's worn out torn shoes (and mind you, he chooses to wear these) and abruptly says, "Son, do you get an allowance?" to which Tyler responds, "No Sir but I mow lawns." Pointing down to Tyler's shoes Jerry says, "Then you might want to see if you can pick up a few more lawns to mow and invest in a new pair of shoes."

But my favorite of the night was when Jerry asked Tyler if he knew anything about a Silver-back gorilla. Then he proceeds to tell him, "Well, a Silver-back is one of the strongest animals on the earth. He could snap you in half like a twig. So just think of me as a Silver-back Gorilla, you got me son?"

Alls well that ends well. Tyler left not only with his life but all his limbs in tact too. He got Jerry's permission to take Monica to Homecoming and he's even allowed to come over sometimes to visit with Monica as long as Jerry or I are there. And then Jerry added, "but the next time you come over you might want to check those shoes at the door."

Monica and Tyler moved over to the dining table to enjoy some chocolate cookies I made for them. I asked Tyler, "Have you ever had to go through anything like this before to take a girl to a dance or date her?" He told me no then I asked, "Well, is Monica worth it?" He looked over at her and smiled and said, "Yes, she is."

Right Answer.