Scary Creatures

My Small One is relatively fearless. She's very active, reasonably coordinated, not intimidated by bugs or dogs, not shy or fearful or strangers. Sometimes loud noises bother her, and the first time she saw the Wizard of Oz, we had to turn it off the very moment the Wicked Witch made her appearance. But for the most part, she faces the world unafraid.

Except for the Storyteller. For some reason, she is absolutely terrified of the woman who comes to her school once a month to tell stories to the children. This is particularly strange to me because this is the same woman who taught music to the smaller children last year, when Small was on the smaller children side of the preschool, so she's a familiar face, and when she was the music teacher, there was no problem with her. But this year, it is such an issue that Small asks me to "check it out" every school day, to make sure there's no story teller before she walks into her class. She has a standing arrangement with her teachers to allow her to be the "special helper" on story day, which means she gets to stay in he classroom instead of going to hear the story. Stranger still, when we see the storyteller outside of her story telling capacity, she has no issue with her. We can only surmise that something in the animated way the stories are told just rubs her the wrong way.

Apparently, this dread of animated performers extends to clowns, as well. I think this is a fairly common phobia, because, let's face it, clowns can be pretty creepy. But it made me giggle this afternoon when I picked Small up from school.

She hopped in the car and leaned forward, hands extended, palms downward in a reassuring gesture, and said, "It wasn't a CLOWN walking up to the school. It was just a parent dressed UP as a clown."

Whew! Such a relief.

Stuck in the Middle with You

I'm extremely blessed, as a mom, with three beautiful, healthy, bright children. One of them has already left the nest, (flown the coop?), and one is still in that fun preschool stage, where everything I say and do is wonderful, and she wants me with her all the time. Mother's Day was fun yesterday, because she was so pleased and proud to present me with the little gifts she'd made in school and Sunday school.

My Middle Child, though, is the one that occupies most of my time, and most of my thoughts. She's in that phase of adolescence right now that is the complete opposite of the preschool time, where the things I say and do are moronic and embarrassing, and the thought of being touched by or seen with me is repulsive. She's having a tough time of it, too, really trying to find her way, and I'd like to help her, guide her around the potholes I can see in her path, but she can't see that. To her, I'm an obstacle, an impediment, the only thing between her and the fulfilment of her dreams.

Mothers I know, who have been there and done that, tell me it will pass, and I hope it will. I miss the closeness I used to feel with my daughter. I miss seeing her get really excited about accomplishing something. I miss feeling like I know her better than anyone else.

The truth is, despite her current struggles, I know she's a really remarkable girl. Beautiful and strong, smart and quick-witted, full of ideas and spunk, creative, gifted and with a lively imagination. I look at her, and I see all the things she doesn't realize she can be. I look at her and want desperately to be able to fast forward her through the troubled times and bring her to a place of cognition, an age of reason, where she sees the world more clearly, and understands that I am not a stumbling block but an ally, and an advocate.

The strange thing, I think, about motherhood, is the ability to see your children as all their ages at one time. I look at my Small, and see her sweet preschool face, but have a vision of the woman she'll grow to be. I look at my Oldest, and still see that tiny, funny little boy, hidden in the man he now is. I look at my Middle Child, and behind the teenager I see the soft baby, my little pig-tailed sweetheart, round faced and sunny, my chatty and funny preteen, and the woman I want her to grow into, confident, accomplished and successful. My highest goal, my biggest challenge, is to help guide her, and all my children, really, into the place God has for them, the place where they become the amazing people I know them to be.

My prayer, every day, is for strength, for wisdom, for guidance, and for perspective, with a debt of gratitude and praise for all the people they have been, are, and will become.

Is it cheating to repost my own blog?

Today is Mother's Day, and it's a strange one for me. My Oldest no longer lives here, and is unsure whether he'll "make it by" today. Middle Child spent the night with a friend on the other side of town. My Small has been very excited, bringing me gifts from preschool and Sunday school with a delighted look on her face, and she and the Man are out picking up lunch even now. But I'm not spending the day with my big kids, and I don't get to see my own mother today, (or as often as I'd like to), so it feels anticlimactic and strange.

A few days ago, I was reading through some old blogs, and came across one from Father's Day weekend last year that really struck a chord with me, as a good picture of how I feel about motherhood. So even though it may be a cheat, I want to post it again:

The last day at the mountain house, we sit on the back porch, the Small One and I, and eat cherries. The sun is low on the mountains, and it’s the time of day when the world seems benevolent and warm. I bite the cherries in half, being careful to take the seed in my half, so I can give her a seedless chunk. She’s impatient for more, but I relish the time, watching the cherry stains spread across her face and fingers.

I suddenly have the thought that this is the way I want parenting to be, but it rarely is- I always want to hand them pieces of life from which I’ve stripped the obstacles and rotten parts, and watch them enjoy themselves. The cherries I bite are sometimes not sweet, and when they’re not I throw them off the deck, so she only gets the choicest pieces. I tell her we’re throwing away the yucky cherries, and she looks at me with her trusting, not quite three year old face, and nods agreement. “We don’t like yucky cherries,” she says, “because they’re not so yummy.”

Looking into the serious eyes above the cherry stains, I have a flash of the years to come. I’m all too familiar with the difficulties ahead, having raised two other children almost to adulthood, and I want to hold her right where she is, while she still trusts me completely and loves me without reservation. I want to sit with her and listen to her say that she loves cherries because they’re red, and red is her favorite color. I want to know her favorite color. I don’t want to fight with her about tattoos and piercing and curfews, I don’t want her to assume I’m setting rules because I hate her, I don’t want to look into her face and see a hostile stranger.

I’m thinking this as she hops off her rocking chair and stubs her toe. She yelps, and I hand her a cherry half. She examines it for a minute, then looks at me and brightens up. “Thank you, Mommy,” she says, “that will make me feel better.”

Happy Mother's Day, especially to my beautiful Mama!

Jokes and Nonsense

My dad came to visit today, in the way my dad usually does, which is to say that he was passing through, flying to visit someone else, and stopped in my town for a few hours. This time was a little different, though, because he brought his new stepdaughters who are, strangely enough, relatively close in age to my two older children. (Not so strange if you realize how close in age his new wife is to me, but that's a story for another blog.)

I was happy he was bringing them, not least because Middle Child had not met them before, and had been wanting to. Come to think of it, I guess they hadn't met the Man before, either, but I totally forgot about that when they were here. He wasn't able to get off work for the wedding last year, but I forgot about that, because there were SO many weddings and other events last year that it's all a bit of a blur. M.C. was not particularly charming, unfortunately, having had a not so great week, romantically speaking.

One person that everyone has met, and enjoyed, of course, is my Small One. Today she was in rare form, running all over Centennial Olympic Park, singing songs in the back seat, telling everyone her long name, and just generally entertaining the crowd. We decided to take them on a tour of Decatur, since that is our favorite hang out spot, and M.C. brightened considerably and suggested a pizza place for lunch.

This suited everyone but Small. "Noooo!" she said, "I don't want PIZZA!" I'm not sure what that was about. It could be because last week, in Nashville, she had a bit of a run in with jalapenos on a pizza, which caused her to squeal and rake at her tongue with her fingers, but I didn't think she'd been traumatized by that!

We assured her that she wouldn't be required to eat pizza, that we were certain there were other things on the menu. But as we walked, one or the other of us would say something about pizza, or "the pizza place", and she would begin her protests anew. No, no, no. No pizza. She did NOT want pizza, she was NOT going to eat pizza, on and on.

We got to the place, and I ordered a soup and sandwich combo to share with Small. When it came, she eyed my minestrone suspiciously, mentioning that she really only wanted "soup with nothing in it". Then she turned to the nearest "step-auntie", who was digging into a thick slice of Sicilian pizza, and asked if she would share. We reminded her that she'd told us persistently for more than a half an hour that she did NOT want pizza, to which she replied, "Yes, but I was only JOKING!"

In the car on the way home from the airport, she was singing in the back seat, as she played with her Mickey Mouse doll. The song went something like this: "I DON'T have a ladybug on my head, no I DON'T have a ladybug on my head, no I DON'T have a LADY bug ON my HEEEAAAAAD!"

There was a pause, and then she called out, "MOMMY!!! Mickey Mouse is singing that he doesn't have a ladybug on his head, but he DOES! Can you please tell him that he DOES have a ladybug on his head?"

I called into the back seat, "Hey! Mickey Mouse! You DO have a ladybug on your head!"

Because, really, what else could I do?

Photo Friday- the Prom Edition

Middle Child has been dating a senior, from another high school, for the past several months. So, even though she's only a sophomore, tonight was prom. His dad drove, and, sadly, took video of the whole "getting out the door" process, which included me, freshly showered, with wet hair and no makeup, awkwardly trying to pin a boutonnière on his son without stabbing him through the heart. (I had reason to want to go ahead and stab him, but that's a story for another blog.)

I was kinder to the other parent, and did not catch him in any of the stills. The Man is the photographer in this family, but I think I did an adequate job of capturing the moment.

Thursday 13- the almost missed it edition

Wow! I have 8 minutes left in this day to do my promised daily blog! So, how about 13 things that made me happy today:

1. My student who'd been on vacation came back full of delighted anecdotes about his trip.
2. That same student had done his homework, and was almost as gleeful about presenting it as he was about telling me his vacation stories, because he really hadn't thought he could do it.
3. My other student came to class very pleased with the book I'd assigned him over the break, and gave a very enthusiastic oral report.
4. I got to see some friends today that I hadn't gotten to see in quite a while, and catch up a little.
5. One of those friends gave me some real encouraging words about life in general, and teenagers in particular. AND an acquaintance wrote me a lovely encouraging email, offering me assistance with a task I've been dreading.
   
6. I was able to share my Small One with some of those friends, who were just as charmed by her as I tend to be.
7. Small was incredibly well behaved and polite throughout the day, even though I dragged her on errands. In addition to demonstrating her unflagging devotion to her big sister by bringing her everything in the store she thought might POSSIBLY apply to her prom outfit (and the 3 year old imagination comes up with some interesting choices), she also turned to me at one point in the mall and quoted song lyrics. How fun is that?!?
   
8. She was so sweet to a baby who was fussing at the post office that another woman in line assumed she was the big sister. She kept saying "Oh, what's the matter, little baby?" in a really loving tone.
   
9. Middle Child and I finished prom shopping, which means no more malls for me! Hooray!
10. In a surprising moment, Middle Child informed me that I rock, and gave me a high five, so that was rewarding.
11. My dad sent me a recipe for mojito cake yesterday, which made me happy today because I got to come home from teaching and eat it.
12. My garden is thriving.
13. I got a very loving birthday card in the mail- very heartwarming.

So there you go! Happy Thursday, and hooray for the impending weekend!

Must be Genetic

The girl has inherited my wanderlust, apparently:



In case you can't translate the dialect, the song goes "It's fun to travel everywhere". (Repeat)

Long names

Small One is a friendly sort. She says "Hello!" to everyone we pass, sometimes getting very upset if the greeting is not returned. She freely gives hugs and smiles, demonstrates the more interesting features of her toys ("Hey! Lady! Listen to the noise my monkey makes!") and is just a general force of cheer in the world.

For a while, her favorite activity was to show people how fast she could run and how I she could jump. She'd approach an unsuspecting stranger and say, "HEY! Do you want to see howfastIcanrunandhowhighIcanjump?" Typically, not comprehending anything but the questioning tone in her voice, the person would nod dazedly, at which point Small would be OFF! She'd jump in the air as high as, oh, about a centimeter, and then dash off down the hallway. Catching on at this point, the stranger would become the appreciative audience, clapping and cheering, as Small One beamed with pride.

These days, she has a new one. She approaches everyone with "My name is (Small One), what's your name?" When they tell her, she then asks "But what's your LONG name?" This is because she has now learned to say her first, middle, and last name, and she's very proud to show off this skill. Once they tell her theirs, she gets to fill in the blank with her impressive name recitation, which is always a big hit.

Today, I had a little fun. A saleslady leaned down to coo over Small One, and I noticed from the lady's name tag that her first name was the same as Small's. Even better- it was the same as Small's LONG first name, not the name she's commonly called. I seized the opportunity. I patted her on the head and said "Ask the nice lady her name!"

She did. The lady responded. Small was dumbfounded. For the first time in her life, rendered speechless. She looked at me, then back at the lady. After a minute, she said really quietly, "But what's your LONG name?" When the lady's long name was not identical to hers, she regained her confidence and shared her long name as well. She then added that she is ALSO called by her commonly used name. The lady was suprised, charmed, and delighted, and told Small what she's commonly called, which is a slightly different variation.

I love these encounters, they make me laugh and warm my heart. I love them less, though, when I'm in a hurry. Middle Child summed that aspect up best last night when she turned to her sister and said "Don't talk to strangers. It takes up too much time."

Happy Happy Birthday, Baby!

This post has nothing to do with looking up, it has more to do with looking back.

Twenty years ago today, I went for my six month prenatal check up- (in those olden days we counted months rather than weeks)- and by the end of the day, my Oldest had entered the world. Surprise!

We didn't get to take him home for six weeks, which wasn't bad, considering he'd been ten weeks early, and when we finally did get to take him home he only weighed four pounds. His infancy was rather an exercise in terror, with such a tiny and fragile boy, and I have to say the girls were a breeze, comparatively speaking. I tell the story of my son, who was born at two pounds and fourteen ounces, to anyone with a preterm infant, as encouragement, because he's a robust and healthy young man now, strong and tall.

In my heart, though, sometimes I still see him as the tiny little guy who needed me so much. He doesn't live with me now, hasn't really needed me for years, and I miss him. I always thought I'd be the last mom on earth to suffer from the empty nest, I thought I had a firm grasp on the concept of raising independent people who will leave and live their own lives, but I must admit, I miss him every day.

It's a strange fact, isn't it, that the older you get, the shorter time seems? For a child, a day can seem like forever. For a teenager, a six month relationship is long term. But for a mom, twenty years pass in the blink of an eye, and suddenly this guy:

is this guy:



Happy birthday, Oldest! Call your Mom.

Queen of Look Up

Ruminating on the NaBloPoMo theme for the month, I've had many ideas flitting through my mind. For those who don't know, NaBloPoMo is a challenge to write a blog post every day for a month. Nablopomo.com, in an effort to help participants overcome writer's block, provides a monthly theme- the theme for May 2010 is "Look Up".

There are many reasons that the phrase "Look Up" appeals to me in my life right now. Many situations are causing me to gaze heavenward for guidance, some other situations are beginning to look up. Many deep paths can be taken down this particular blogging road.

But tonight, I'm going shallow. It occurred to me that another definition for "look up" is what I do continually- I look things up. For one thing, I work for a text question service, where I spend entire shifts looking up the answers to people's questions about their homework, relationships, sex life, addictions, and medical conditions. But really, I just like to look things up.

Remember when we had to sit through movie credits to see who played a certain character or wrote a certain song? No more! I leave the theater and make a bee line for imdb, to look it up. While I'm there, I learn things I didn't even know I WANTED to know. Did you know Brad Pitt currently has 21 projects in production? How does he find the time, with all those kids?

It makes me pretty good at trivia, but only temporarily. Tonight, my sister was speculating on a comedian's age, and I was at the ready with the year, because I looked it up last night. I won't remember that piece of not very useful trivia in a few days, but for now, I'm an expert on that particular guy.

Middle Child recently ran up a $23 cell phone bill texting the very service for which I work. Are you KIDDING me? Text Mom! It's FREE! Naturally, I made her pay me back, and I also threatened her life.

Do you remember when we had to use books to look things up? My family once watched a movie about a historical figure, and afterwards, my father came home from the library with books for every age level... we all researched and shared facts for days! Now everything from dictionaries to medical journals is accessible online. We don't even use phone books in our house!

Not that the phone company doesn't try, by the way. We get new phone books at a pretty alarming rate, particularly in light of the fact that my husband won't allow me to throw them away, instead choosing to "recycle" them, which is his code word for "put them in the carport until my wife's head explodes". True story- he recently got rid of about 30 phone books he'd recycled in that charming manner, and the next day, there was a brand new set sitting in the exact same place, courtesy of the phone company.

Because the phone company hates me.