Odd (Wo)Man Out

Well, y'all.

It is July 1st.  The boys have been out of school for approximately 14 days and 17 hours.  We've had no camps or vacations yet.  We've just been here.  All together.  Everyday.  All day.  And the Husband has been working from home a bit this week and is coaching a Little League All Star team that practices every evening.  And though I know he loves me, if I told him I was running away with the sweet older gentleman that power washed our deck last week to his Guatemalan homeland, I think Coach Skinner might just say, "Well, that sounds fun.  Do you think I should move Jimmy to the 3 hole and Billy to clean-up?"

So, you know, the gang's all here. In the heart of my home, sweet, home. Lounging on the couch.  Running up and down the basement stairs. Staring into the fridge.  Eating everything in the fridge and then asking why there's no food in the fridge.  Watching the Red Sox on tv.  Watching a DVD of the Red Sox winning the World Series on tv.  Watching the Nationals on tv.  Watching the College World Series on tv.  Watching the US Open on tv.  Watching a constant loop of ESPN reports about all that stuff over and over again on tv.  

And I'd say that it's going pretty well because, as I have said, I was made to live in a family of boys.  I handle each day with grace and patience.  I'm pretty much the ideal summer time Proverbs 31 gal.   I am like the merchant ships bringing food from afar (or at least from the Harris Teeter).  I am clothed with strength and dignity (or at least in Old Navy pjs).  I laugh at the days to come.  I speak with wisdom and faithful instruction on my tongue. You know, pretty much all that stuff.
    
Until that one day when I find myself a bit overwhelmed and tired.  And I walk into the kitchen and notice the dirty water jugs on the table next to someone's cup (not the drinking kind) and someone's shoes and someone's baseball hat and everyone's dirty dishes.  And I think maybe we'll watch a movie tonight, but I forget that the NBA draft is on and it's absolutely crucial that we know which team drafted which player in the 4th pick of the 7th round.

So I decide to go upstairs, take a bubble bath, read a bit and fall into a deep sleep so that I can get up the next day and be my graceful, patient self all over again.  And just as I am almost asleep, all the boys seem to be talking/yelling/laughing/arguing/stomping at the same time.  And although they are downstairs, it sounds like every last one of them is right next to me trying to bust out my eardrum.

I would like to tell you that what happened next was a very elegant moment for me when in a calm, measured manner, I made my request that perhaps my family could just lower their voices ever so slightly, so that I might catch a few moments of rest and that I looked exactly like this:

In reality,  I shot up in my bed like a maniac, chucked off my eye mask like a catcher throwing his mask off to catch a foul ball and yelled something about no one in the entire family even realizing that I actually reside in the same home as the rest of them.

It was really more similar to this:



Well, you know, it's possible Husband was thinking "a wife of noble character, who can find?  REALLY, who?" 

Perhaps you're having some trouble being a Proverbs 31 woman today, too?  I suggest a quick trip to the nail salon, a walk with a girlfriend and a scented candle.  Then ask God to give you another shot at it.  He's faithful like that.  I'm so grateful.

Happy Summer, Gals!

If You Give a Mouse a Cookie, Or Take a Boy to the Ballet . . .

. . . you might cross your fingers and hope he doesn't make a scene when he actually realizes what the ballet is.  And you might have to take that cookie from the mouse as a bribe for that boy and add the promise of a giant milkshake for good measure.  And you might find out that having a date with your boy to the ballet is kinda funny and kinda exasperating and kinda one of your best dates ever.

I never found out what any of my three children would be.  I had the first two boys and did not want to try for #3 until I was fully ready to want a child, not a girl.  And I was ready.  I didn't yearn for a girl.  I yearned for that one missing member of our family.  I knew that this would be my last baby and that's all that I hoped for:  a baby.  The day after my third boy, Drew, was born, as I sat in the hospital alone, I told myself that I would take just a few moments in the quiet to grieve the fact that I wouldn't have a little girl.  I waited and waited for the sadness to come and it just didn't.  I was a little shocked actually.  I didn't feel empty or cheated or disappointed.  I felt like God had completed my family exactly the way it should have been completed. 

So despite my jokes about Fake Daughter, there is no real pain in my heart over not having a girl.  None.  But let's be honest.  Though I have come to love baseball and basketball games, sword fights and nerf gun battles, I am most certainly a girl.  A girl who loves some sparkle and some lace, some painted red lips and some pink pointe shoes.  A girl who will squeal with delight at a ballerina twirling and leaping in the spotlight.

So it happened that we had some good friends that would be performing in the Nutcracker.  All of my boys had said that they would escort me to the performance until such time as the two big ones realized that our high school basketball team would be playing its cross-town rival that very evening.

Cue Debbie Downer music. 

I was thinking I really would have to take Fake Daughter, but little man stepped up and said, "I'll go with you, Mama!  What is it?" 

So, I mumbled about dancing and a play and seeing lots of friends on the stage and you're my favorite child ever and we'll get lots and lots of ice cream after.

That was conversation #1.  Here are some samples of conversations during the performance.

Drew:  "Oh, ok.  Is there just like one dance thing and then the story will start?"
Me:  "It has started, buddy.  Remember, I said there was a lot of dancing.  It's the ballet.  Dancing is kinda the whole story.  Just watch."

Drew:  "So, is there a problem to the story because I don't see the problem?"
Me:  "I'm so glad you've been paying attention to the Elements of  a Story lesson at school  Just watch."

Drew:  "There's Stephen.  And that lady from Vacation Bible School.  And there's Ryan's sister right behind Katie."
Me:  "See, there are people you know, see?  Cool, right?"
Drew:  "Yea, but I don't think I really get it."

Drew:  "What's the deal with those shoes?  Why are those shoes so loud?"
Me:  "They're tap shoes, buddy.  That's the thing with tap shoes.  Isn't that awesome?"
Drew:  "I guess, but they're really loud."

Drew:  "I didn't know Stephen had a girlfriend.  Is that girl his girlfriend?"
Me:  "No, honey, it's just pretend."
Drew:  "I don't think so, Mom.  I'm pretty sure that's his girlfriend."

Drew:  "So she's dreaming?  I mean is it a good dream or a bad dream?  I don't really get it.  Oh, so she killed the big mouse?  How did she kill it?  Why is there smoke on the floor?  Is there a fire? I don't really get it.  That lady has a ton of makeup on.  That's weird.  Is she a cake?  I don't really get it.  Is Kari a piece of cake or is that a cookie?  What is Kari?"

Me:  "Oh, Drew!  Isn't Mary Beth just beautiful?  She's the Sugar Plum Fairy!  Wasn't she just the best dancer ever?  I think I'm going to cry.  Did you like it?"
Drew:  "Yea, it was alright.  So is there a Dairy Queen close by or do we go all the way to the one by our house?"

So for this girl, there were sequins and pink and beautiful music and lipstick and long fake eyelashes and sparkling crowns.  And I loved every minute, every note, every twirl, every leap.  And I loved my date who sat close the whole time asking questions, but never complaining.  Afterward, Dairy Queen was closed so we went to McDonald's just like all the fancy folks do after a night at the ballet.

The rest of the weekend, we went back to our real life of baseball clinics and basketball practices.  On the way home after church on Sunday, my Nutcracker date asked me, "Hey, Mom, do you think you'd die if someone chopped off your arm?  Wait.  What about if someone chopped off your head?" 

So the moral of the story is, I will keep going to see the Nutcracker every year.  I'll keep joking about shopping and getting manicures with Fake Daughter, but it's all good here in Skinner World.  It's just exactly the way God wants it to be.  As long as no one tries to test the Would You Die if You Chopped Off Your Arm Theory.

On Apples & Trees & Getting by with a Little Help from Your Friends

I have three boys who all play baseball.

Hello, are you new here?

Anyway, if you're not new here, you already know that there are wins and there are losses and we handle these things to the best of our ability which often times frankly, is not how Jesus would handle these things.  We try to learn lessons and we try to highlight the positive and we try to be all stoic and such.  

Having three different children with three different personalities means that some handle losing better than others.  There just so happens to be one who in general handles losing slightly less well than the other two.  We're going to just hypothetically call him, ummmm . . .Kyle.  This is not a hard and fast rule.  It's just that in general with Kyle there is less poker face and more my dog just got run over by a truck face.  Less standing straight, head held high and more my shoulders weigh 257 pounds and my neck has ceased to do its job of holding up my head.  Now in full disclosure, this hypothetical kid named Kyle comes by it honestly.

Exhibit A: His hypothetical dad, Steve, told me that when he was about six years old and was losing the family bowling game, he crawled under the seats at the bowling alley and would not come out.

Exhibit B:  Just about a week ago, my family and I were enjoying a Saturday morning breakfast at Panera where I was reading this USA Today article which was all lovey-dovey about the Texas Aggies, the arch rivals of my beloved and beleaguered Texas Longhorns.

Again, are you new here?

In the article MY President, the one who I worked to get re-elected and because of whom I met my husband, said that he and Barbara are "Aggies to the core" which made me feel like someone stabbed me right in my burnt orange, Republican heart.  It also mentioned that some punk  defensive player on the Aggies had tweeted that Texas A&M, due to my team's downward spiral into football hell recent difficulties, was now considered "the university of Texas".

Y'all.

I almost lost my mind right there in front of my children, my husband and many other families innocently enjoying their Saturday morning bagels.  It was kinda like this:

Exhibit C:  Later that evening my Texas Longhorns played like Pee Wee football players and lost to Ole Miss and I did something like this:

So, poor Kyle.  The apple doesn't fall from the tree.  Either tree, apparently.

But there is a redemptive story here to tell.  The very day after my tantrum(s), Kyle had a double header.  His baseball team happened to be playing Gavin Rupp's team.  Gavin, who you know, if you're not new here, was a courageous 13 year old baseball player from our area who passed away this summer after a battle with brain cancer. Gavin's dad, Chris, still coaches Gavin's buddies and it turns out that the team has changed its name to the Warriors and the players wear Gavin's #15 on their sleeves. 

I know, right?  Take a deep breath and try not to cry.  It's still just too much to take.

The Warriors beat our team in both games.  Our kids played hard.  They stayed with them in Game One, but in Game Two, the wheels came off.  The Warriors were good.  They hit like crazy and we couldn't come back.  The score was something like a gazillion to three.  I braced myself as I climbed into the car with he who does not fall far from the tree. 

Tree:  Tough game, right, bud?  Yikes.

Apple:  Yea. (Shrugs shoulders, looks me in straight in the eye, does not have his face pressed against the car window, no pouting to be seen.)

We drive for awhile and I wait for the groaning and sighing to start.

Apple:  Mom, you know that kid, George, the catcher?  We just could not figure that kid out, you know.  He had like five hits off of us.

Tree:  Yea.  He was good, huh?

Apple:  Yea . . .You know, Wilson told me that George is Gavin's best friend.

Tree:  Oh, really? 

Apple:  Yea.  (suppressing a smile, eyebrows raise)

Tree:  Hmmm.  Pretty solid player, that kid.

Apple:  Yep. (the beginnings of a grin)

Tree:  and . . . he's got some friends in high places, huh?

Kyle looked out the window then and a smile as wise as it was wide spread across his twelve year old face.

I might be making a leap here.  It's possible that his smile didn't quite hold all the lessons that I think it did.  But, I know this.  He wasn't pouting.  He wasn't thinking only of himself.  He wasn't going to spend the rest of the drive home brooding over the loss.
 
I think my son just knew some things that day that he might not have really known before and I'm not going to assume that he'll remember them every game going forward.  But, for that day maybe he knew that everything in life is about perspective.  Maybe he knew that losing a baseball game is not the most terrible thing that can happen to a twelve year old boy.  Maybe he knew that we can hold the people we lose safe in our hearts and that true friendships can endure for all of eternity.  Maybe he knew that strength can come from something greater than ourselves.  Maybe at some level he knew the truth of Hebrews 12:1:

". . .since we are surrounded by such a great cloud of witnesses, let us throw off everything that hinders and the sin that so easily entangles. And let us run with perseverance the race marked out for us."
 
I had braced myself and had thought that I would be looking at sadness that day, but instead I looked for some beauty. 

I think my boy and I found some. 

Hey, Gavin, how 'bout them apples?  Happy birthday, buddy.

Tuesday Daybook: July 9, 2013

Outside my window:
It's cloudy and grey again.  This summer has been full of rain.  I'm not a fan.
I am thinking:
about baseball, of course.  Our guys made it to the Little League District Championship for the 4th year in a row.  Now thinking, could this really happen again?
I am thankful:
for the love and gracious generosity of this area's baseball community who have left no stone unturned, no ribbon unpinned, no orange shoelace untied in the effort to honor Gavin Rupp, a warrior boy fighting brain cancer.  I am immensely grateful for the way my children are able to see God's people trying desperately to spread light in the midst of darkness.

I am listening to:
silence.  Ballplayers sleeping off a very close game.
I am wearing:
blue plaid pjs and a white tank top.
In the kitchen:
not a lot.  There has been a whole lot of eating out in the past few weeks.
I am going:
to find some businesses who might display our flyer for our July 16th benefit for Gavin today.

 

I am reading:
Cleaning House:  A Mom's 12-Month Experiment to Rid Her Home of Youth Entitlement by Kay Wills Wyma
I am wondering:
if you might want to skip the Sports Page's story about Aaron Hernandez and read about Bryce Harper of the Washington Nationals instead.  There are some good ones out there and I will forever be a Bryce Harper fan.

I am pondering: 
my responsibilities and timing when faced with questions about faith.  I have felt disappointed in myself of late when faced with questions - questions from adults and children and questions of my very own.  So many difficult, defiant questions.  Those I sometimes feel equipped to answer and those that I know that I cannot answer because of the simple fact that Christians are not Christ.  Because I am broken and confused and sinful.  I am pondering the tragedy of the world full of trouble that He told me would be.  I am pondering a God who did not ever in all of my study, in all of my time with Him, never once, tell me that if I believed in Him, my life would be free of pain.  I am pondering resting in the hope of an eternity with Him when I am certain that I will get all of my questions answered and I am certain that I will see how he makes beauty out of ashes.  I am pondering when to share this and when to hear my God say, "Zip it, sister.  I've got this."
A quote for today:
"Prayer in action is love and love in action is service.  Try to give unconditionally whatever a person needs in the moment.  The point is to do something, however small, and show you care through your actions by giving your time . . . We feel what we are doing is just a drop in the ocean, but that ocean would be less without that drop." - Mother Teresa
I am praying:
for Gavin and all children fighting cancer, for a dear friend's brother also battling cancer, for those fighting addictions and depression.  Be near us, Lord Jesus.  Please be near.
On my Ipod:
The Champ by Nelly is on constant rotation on our trips out to the ball fields lately.  I guess all the kids these days would call this our jam.  Yea, I'm not that cool.
A verse for today: 
"Therefore, since we have been justified through faith, we have peace with God through our Lord Jesus Christ, through whom we have gained access by faith into this grace in which we now stand.  And we rejoice in the hope of the glory of God.  Not only so, but we also rejoice in our sufferings, because we know that suffering produces perseverance;  perseverance, character;  and character, hope.  And hope does not disappoint us, because God has poured out his love into our hearts by the Holy Spirit, whom He has given us." Romans 5:1-3"
I am learning:
that I have lots to learn.
One of my favorite things:
seeing a smile on the all business face of Coach Skinner when one of the greatest kids I know knocks in three runs with one swing.
A peek into my day:

Daybook idea at http://www.thesimplewomansdaybook.blogspot.com/

Throw Back Thursday: Tuning Out in 2009

"If I close my eyes, it's almost like you're not even talking, Coach."

 

Speaking Truth with Our Sons: A Life-Changing Link

Hi, People.

We are on Spring Break this week at Lake Anna and I'm trying to be in the moment with my guys, so there won't be any live blogging from me this week.  I'm hoping to embrace the boyness this week:  tuning into NCAA March Madness (hang in there, Miami!  The rest of my bracket is an enormous mess), building fires, catching fish, watching war and sports movies and very possibly shooting bb guns at Diet Coke cans.

{OK, truth.  I might not actually participate in these activities.  I might just watch all this stuff happen from the window with my books and my coffee.  It's 45 degrees and windy.  Don't judge me.}

For those of you who are embracing the boyness in your own homes, I wanted to share with you a heart-wrenching, touching, truth-filled post by the one and only Ann Voskamp.  To be honest, when anything about the Steubenville trial came on our television in the past few weeks, whenever I saw those boys' faces, I changed the channel.  I didn't want to see it.  I didn't want to read about it.  I didn't want to talk about it at all, especially not with my oldest son.  Then I read this.  Ann says, "When you are the mother of sons, Steubenville is about us."

I was wrong.  She is right.  Read it HERE.

I have a few things queued up and scheduled to post this week while I'm trying to be in the moment and not freeze my tush off. But let's be honest, we're a year into this blogging adventure and I still have no idea what I'm doing.  If it doesn't work, I'll see you in April.

PS The tomb was empty!  How cool is that???  Have a blessed Easter, friends!

Please Don't Bless You on the New Couch and an Experiment

Recently, I saw a Facebook post where a mother stated that she just could not bring herself to correct her daughter who kept talking about "ValentiMe's Day".  She just thought it was so cute.  It reminded me of all the adorable ways my boys have mispronounced words over the years and how I really loved it so much, I rarely corrected them.

For years and years, (perhaps still this year - just kidding, I think) Kyle called animals, AMiNals.  And it just made me burst with glee every time he said it, so I would never, ever correct him.

In preschool, Joe made an art book of masterpieces he had painted with all different kinds of utensils:  sponges, his hands, and halves of oranges and apples.  When I asked him about one of them he said, he had used a lunatic.  After studying it for awhile, I asked if perhaps, he meant a q-tip?  Yes, of course, same thing, Mom.

Very recently, Drew was reading on our new sofa.  I might have threatened my children within an inch of their lives about doing their very, very, very best to keep the new sofa as clean as possible so that I won't do the superfreak and later fall into deep guilt over my obsession with a piece of furniture.  Anyway, Drew was reading and then he sneezed - a giant, loud sneeze - and then he yelled out,

"Mommy, can  you please bring me a Kleenex!  I just bless-youed all over the new couch."

Y'all.  That child is eight years old now.  He surely knows what a sneeze is.  But also, that child is a smart little booger. (no pun intended)  Somehow I wonder if he knew that my heart would melt when he said that and the superfreak would be avoided  for yet another day.

Here, my people, is my favorite one of late.  I got this text from my sister a few months ago.

 

 

Is that the best or what?  My sister said she just glanced back at that sweet boy in the rearview mirror and gave him a few seconds.  Can you just picture it?  After he said it, his little face kinda scrunched up and he kinda looked up at the ceiling just searching his little mind, thinking so hard, "constipated?  am I right on that one?  hmmmm . . .yea, constipated.  that's the word, uh-huh."

 

I know you, mommies out there have a ton of these.  So this is where you can help a gal out with a little experiment. 

 

Two things have come to my attention lately.  One is that apparently there is something in the blogosphere called a "blogiversary".  My blogiversary was March 8th and I should have written something to commemorate it because I really am ever so grateful to those of you who read, comment on, email about and/or share this here mess of words I write each week.  But, I didn't write anything yet about that, probably because each time I post something I think that maybe that's it and all the words have run out.  Also, my husband usually buys me a Big Gulp of Diet Coke for our anniversary and I get him some peanuts or if it's one of those important ones, I go all out with the Fancy Cashews.  So, I kinda stink at anniversaries.

 

In any case, in honor of the blogiversary, I am trying to figure out the problem with the comments section of this blog.  Many of you comment on Facebook, since that is the only place where I have promoted this blog so far, which is fine.  Some of you don't comment at all, which is also fine.  I've been reading a number of blogs for years and I rarely comment.  Anyway, according to Sister, to comment on this blog, you have to fill in codes and write in email addresses and basically promise to sell your child on Craigslist or something before it will let you comment.  I think I fixed that, so here's the test today. 

 

If you have a funny kid story that relates to how adorably mixed-up they can get about the English language, then how about you share it in the comment box here on the blog and let me know how it goes?  Or if you don't have a funny story then you can just say, "Hi".  In any case, give us your best price for your kid.  I'm sure he or she is really cute and totally worth it.

 

Thanks, friends.  Happy day to you.

Letting Boys Be Boys and Squirrels Rest in Peace

Two of my three little men have phones now.  So I am currently in the business of keeping track not only of my own password, but theirs as well.  The technology age has me a little stressed out.  I've become a bit of a stalker.  I periodically check the boys' texts and Instagram accounts just to see what evils are lurking out there.  Mostly, I want to see if I can still keep the dream alive that none of their friends use curse words.

Shattered, by the way. 

If you want to give me grief about respecting their privacy and all that, please save it.  I will stop asking for their passwords and checking their texts when they can make me a taco and serve me a Diet Coke on a dinner table in an apartment in which they are paying the bills.  Plus, these little peeks into the minds of middle school boys have so far proven to be less than exciting and they don't reveal a heckuva lot.  The great majority of the conversations between boys go like this:

Sup?

NM (not much)

Gtg (got to go)

K

Riveting.  And very similar to many conversations I have with my husband . . . I kid.

But, the other day, I read this from one of my boy's long-time  friends.  This boy, by the way, is one of the sweetest boys I know.  I adore him.  Precious and polite as he is though, he is still, most certainly, A BOY.  Moms of girls, just taking a leap here, but I'm guessing you don't come across something like this too often.

 

Nice, right?  Perhaps you are gasping and appalled.  But honestly, I don't find this all that disturbing.  I'm sorry for the squirrel, but in all my time of checking texts, this has become my very favorite text of all time because I LOVE BOYS.  I know I complain about the smell and the incessant ESPN and the complete disregard for whether their pants match their shirts, but I LOVE BOYS.  Boys are curious and fascinating and gross.  And they are physical and loud and aggressive.  And they just want to share all of those things (including photographs of bleeding rodents) with the world. 

 

I think God made our boys so wonderfully and I think we, mommies, need to let them be the marvelous, smelly, disgusting creatures He meant them to be. 

 

I'll be honest. I was fine with the crawling to the tip-top of a snow mountain and the capturing of bugs and the overwhelming number of activities that could PUT YOUR EYE OUT early on in their little lives.  What I am finding as my boys grow up is that I want to shield them more from other dangers, not as much the physical ones, as the emotional ones.  I want to save them from failure and struggle at school.  I want to spare them the disappointment of not making the team.  I want to keep them from being devastated by those creatures called girls. 

 

I read an article by Jen Hatmaker, that really spells this out  HERE.  

 

Jen says (This would be Jen with one n.  She is soooo much smarter than Jenn with two ns):

 

"I’ve seen older kids babied within an inch of their lives, headed off to higher learning with no clue on how to be resourceful, how to figure it out, how to handle life’s knocks and bruises. Over-protection has its place for, say, kindergarteners, but at some point we need to put down the bumpers on the bowling lane . . . Not all risk-taking is bad risk-taking. For the love, don’t we want to raise kids who go for it? Who are brave and headstrong? These are not just the marks of achievers; they are the hallmarks of disciples. If we expect our kids to engage this broken world one day, safety has to be somewhere around #14 on the list. Our children will be totally ineffective if they are still afraid of their own shadow."

 

Jen says we need to be brave mommies.  Mommies who aren't phased by a photo of a dead squirrel or even by the prospect that our baby boys' hearts might be broken.  And faith in our sovereign God makes us brave, ladies.  How can we tell our children to trust in the Lord with all their heart and believe that He makes their paths straight if we only trust in our ways and our efforts to make their paths straight and to keep them from hurt?

 

Mommies of boys and mommies of girls, too:  let's trust Him and be brave.  Take a peek at the article.  I need it.  Maybe you do, too.



Dear Postman: RETURN TO SENDER

I received a letter from the high school this week addressed to the parents of one Joe C. Skinner.  Surely there is another Joe C. Skinner somewhere around here whose parents belong in a Rising Freshman Parents Meeting about Pre-AP World History, Honors Biology, Electives and pathways to standard or advanced diplomas.  I'm so very confused.  They surely have the wrong address.

But there we sat.  MY Joe C. Skinner and me.  My Joe C. Skinner looked at the letter with me and then ran to the computer to pull up all the course selections.  My Joe C. Skinner was beside himself with excitement because there are Journalism classes offered in high school. Ever since he was about 3 or 4 years old, my Joe C. Skinner has given the play by play of every single sports event that is occurring whether it's on TV or in the driveway or on the XBox.  He wrote stories about his sports games that did not miss a single play. He has a signed photo on his bulletin board of Neil Everett. If you are a mom of boys who watch ESPN 24/7, you would know that Neil Everett is an ESPN sports analyst/anchorman/broadcast journalist type guy.  But you see, I'm pretty certain that my Joe C. Skinner still should be 3 or 4 years old which is when he told me that when he got big he wanted to work at McDonald's and when he got weally, weally big he wanted to work at Chick-Fil-A. (Truth.  It's important to have goals, no?)

When I look at him lately, though, I am stumped.  I sometimes don't recognize this Joe C. Skinner.  His dad decided it was time again to do the "Are you taller than Mom yet?" test, just last night.  And it has happened.  He made us move in front of the mirror so I couldn't argue it.  My Joe C. Skinner has passed me up.  I could see it with my own eyes.  So, then I filled the bathtub up to the top and poured in at least half a bottle of my "Soothing Stress-Reducing Chamomile" bath soap.  They should just call it "Your Baby is Not a Baby Anymore/Take to the Bath and Cry" bath soap.  I sat there and looked at the ceiling and wondered about this thing called time and how I cannot make it stop.    

Because I promise you it was just yesterday that my Joe C. Skinner and I were driving down the road in my little white Honda.  We were just us, just one boy and his mommy.  We didn't need a giant SUV because all we needed was ONE car seat and ONE sippy cup and ONE pair of Stride Rite shoes. We were probably on the way home from the library or Gymboree class or just wandering around the mall where we were throwing coins in the fountain.   It was summer and my Joe C. Skinner looked out the car window as we were stopped at a stop sign next to a roadside watermelon stand. 

"MOMMY!  MOMMY! LOOK! LOOK OVER DERE!" he shouted, "LOOK AT THOSE BERY, BERY, BIG PICKLES!"

So as you can see, my Joe C. Skinner could not possibly be ready for that high school curriculum.  The boy doesn't know a pickle from a watermelon, okay?  It's just not time yet.  Unless, the high school is offering some sort of vegetable/fruit food classification course, I think I'll just keep him strapped into his car seat for a bit longer, thank you very much.  If anyone by chance happens to see the parents of Joe C. Skinner that were supposed to get this letter, I'll keep it safe.  Because surely, surely, surely, this kid is not going to high school this year.

Become the Light

I woke up on January 1, 2013 and looked out the window at Lake Anna and searched for the sun.  It was not a bright day.  It was grey and the low clouds hung heavy over the lake, but I talked to God and tried to remember:  We will not be overcome by the darkness.  We will overcome it with light.  I looked out at the lake and begged God to help me find the light in 2013.  We need it, God, I pleaded.  We need the end of darkness.  I kept asking Him to send it.  I kept demanding that He take the dark away.

I am told that the children of Sandy Hook Elementary will venture back to school in a new building today. When I saw the headline crawl across my television screen I fought hard not to feel enveloped in darkness again. I fought hard not to feel a heaviness take hold of my heart.  There it is, again, I thought.  There is the dark, looming here, reminding us of evil.  Well, of course, dummy.  He didn't tell me there wouldn't be dark and evil and trouble.  He told me, that I must overcome it.  He has called me to be the light.  Made in His image, we are the light.  We don't sit around and beg Him for it.  We become it.  Certainly, we need His help, but it is must be our effort.  Our focus.  Our intention.  If I have to wear one of those ridiculous speelunker headlights around to remind myself, I am determined to be a part of the light this year.  I am determined to urge my children to that work. 

Way back before I started this blog, I wrote the following letter to my boys.  I posted it here in April.  How easy it is to forget or even to ignore the job He has assigned us.  I'll read this again to my boys this year and we will, with Him, set out each day to do our work.  The work of becoming the light.

The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness does not overcome it. April 2012

I'm Just Sitting Here Watching the Wheel Go Round & Round

Hi.
We are experiencing technical difficulties here at The View Behind Home Plate today.  It seems that my laptop can't pick up the Wi-Fi signal.  Actually, the truth is that I have no idea what's wrong with my computer.  It's just that the spinny blue circle is happening.  That's all I can tell you.  I just made that Wi-Fi signal stuff up.

So, here's the thing:  I was going to write a very inspirational and touching post today.  It was going to be AMAZING.  But I cannot function much longer on this desktop computer because it reminds me of the Wang computers I used in 1992 at the Republican National Committee and I'm afraid I'll start writing an essay about how we should re-elect George H.W. Bush.  Actually, the truth is that I have absolutely nothing to write about today.  There is less than ZERO happening in my brain today, so that spinny circle has good timing.

I had planned to take my laptop to the Geek Squad people today.  I had planned to try very hard not to look like an idiot while handing the computer to those guys with a confused look on my face.  I had planned to try to say something more intelligent to them than, "Hi, Smart people.  Here's my laptop.  It has a spinny blue circle." Then I had planned to not start sweating and feeling like my head was going to explode when they start using words like modem and service provider and anti-virus software.  Actually, the truth is that I conveniently ran out of time to go to the Geek Squad because I spent too much time yapping with one of my favorite girlfriends, Mrs. Fitz, at Pei-Wei,  I'm sure those guys are a real blast, but I kinda like Mrs. Fitz, Pad Thai and refilling my Diet Coke at the fancy Coke machine a lot better than computer geeks.

Speaking of Diet Coke, this is a conversation that Drew and I had in the car the other day.

Drew:  "Mom, can I have some of your Diet Coke?"
Me:  "No, you can't.  It's not good for little kids.  It's actually not good for anyone."
Drew:  "When I grow up, I'm going to drink Diet Coke, I think.  And maybe, I might drink some beer."
Me:  "You know, just because you're a grown-up, it doesn't mean you have to drink either one.  It would be just fine if you decided not to drink Diet Coke or beer.  That would actually be a good decision."
Drew: "Really?  Oh.  I thought beer made you handsome, because Daddy likes beer."

Isn't that sweet?  Or something like that?

That's all I got today, y'all.  I'll check back in once I finish chatting it up with the smarty pants computer guys.

Conversations with Boys and Just so you know, I LOVE MY KID

I had my much needed "beginning of the school year" get together with my therapy group Bible Study group yesterday.  We've been together for over ten years and we have arrived at the season of life which we knew would be as mentally exhausting as the toddler years had been physically exhausting.  We talked about Middle School and how our kids were faring in the big, bad world of cliques and peer pressure and all those influences we knew would come some day.  We fretted about the boy/girl drama that we haven't yet had the pleasure of experiencing with our kids and that we're hoping to avoid, even though we all know each of us didn't avoid it as teenagers, so we're bracing ourselves..

I talked about how I had walked into the high school football game last Friday night and started to cringe right away as I saw groups of young boys and girls giggling here and whispering there.  It was automatic:  I felt the urge to sprint to the bathroom and check to be sure my Farrah wings were in place and that my turquoise eyeliner wasn't running.  My eyes scanned the crowd for my friends...someone?  anyone? 

We all have this notion of Middle School as big and bad and scary and bully-ish and clearly it can be.  But after each of us talked about our own Middle Schoolers and how their first weeks had gone, we realized that we, mommies, were more anxious than our children were.  We want so badly to be sure they feel like they fit in and that they don't get hurt by friends or feel rejected.  Sometimes if we just stop the hand-wringing and listen to and watch our kiddos, we might find that they are doing just fine and dandy and we might just want to zip it.

Exhibit A:  A mere handful of hours after my Mommy Meeting, Joe and I were out to dinner and the conversation turned to how some girls and boys were "going out" in Middle School.  Basically, I think that means texting each other and never "going" anywhere, but still.   I got my "Let's have a bonding moment" face on and started thinking I needed to launch into my speech about his being too young for relationships and too busy with Geometry and Spanish to be worrying about what a girl thinks of him all day at school.  Then of course, there's the whole problem which I like to call "PLEASE, DON'T MAKE ME HURT SOME LITTLE 8th GRADE GIRL WHO MESSES WITH YOUR SWEET HEART, BECAUSE IT WILL BE EMBARRASSING AND I MIGHT GET ARRESTED."   Instead, though, I closed my mouth and listened and he said this: (Joe speaks in bold letters apparently)

"Well, So and so thinks I should get a girlfriend this year. But the thing is, what's the point?  Last year I had that girlfriend and she was all, 'I hope we never break up...we're so great together.'  Then 3 days later she broke up with me because she said,  'You're, like, soooo childish.'  So I said, 'Sorry, I've got two younger brothers and you know, that's just the way I roll.'  And really, she was on crutches the whole two weeks we were going out, so it's not like we were holding hands and running through the daisies or anything."

Laughed so hard I almost spit out my Diet Coke and then took a deep breath.  At least for today, this one seems to be handling things just fine all by himself.

I'm Clearly on a Break

Apparently, children running around the house in the last few weeks of summer suck all the words out of my brain because for the last few weeks even when I have the words in my head, by the time I get to the computer I am unable to get them down.  School starts next week, so I am imagining my days filled with coffee and silence and carpal tunnel syndrome from all the writing I will be doing.  So to the ten or so of you (thanks, Mom and sister) who read this and might want to read more, sit tight.  I am finding what I have known for awhile:  that I need to write for myself.  It settles me, along with a few other things like running, phone calls with my sister and chatting it up with Jesus. I have found the time for those other things this summer, so I am itching to get back to the writing.  I hope for my own sanity, it will come back.

In the meantime, I will let you know that I am on sleepover #3 today, as each boy has been allowed to blow out this summer of 2012 with one more invitation to friends for nighttime insanity. By the way, it is not a slumber party...those are for girls...who knew?  In honor of this occasion, I think I might institute a new feature on this blog which is in regard to being a fly on the wall (or in my case, a driver of the car or guest at the dinner table) as a bunch of boys talk to each other....because it.is.hilarious.  To be honest, the following conversation actually took place as I drove three 10 year olds to hockey practice almost a year ago and I wrote it down when I got home because...well, you'll see.

5th grader #1:  (He had just gotten back from camping over the weekend.  That might be relevant...not sure)  “Let me give you guys some advice.  Never go into the woods and sell a loaded gun to a stranger.”

5th Grader #2:  (also known as my kid) “Why?...Hobo?”

5th Grader #3:  “Dude,  I think we have common sense”

5th Grader #1: “Well, yea, but he just asked about the Hobo…so…”

Note to self:  ????? Add the selling of firearms to a Hobo to the list of important conversations to have with your pre-teen.

 Thanks for still tuning in here, y'all. I'll be back. Have a blessed day.