Wings

There are two lasting bequests we can give our children.

One is roots.

The other is wings.

~Hodding Carter, Jr.

My little girl flew into her new life of college and the Army Reserves. Soar, my child, the world is waiting for you.

These Character Traits Look Familiar...

I am experiencing my mother's revenge...

I have not one, but THREE out of four children who are just as stubborn as I am, and just as outspoken, not to mention ALWAYS having to have the last word!! This, I cannot blame on my husband's genes; it's all me, and these genes fit me like a glove.

I'm sure, without a doubt, that my mom is laughing herself to sleep each night, relishing in the sweet revenge of her daughter having children JUST LIKE HER!

My satisfaction? The hope of my children having kids that are just like them!

A few moments later after the guilt of what I had typed started to seep in...

I dearly love my children, and am incredibly thankful for them. I'm just having a severe case of crabbiness, and cannot seem to shake it. I have one nerve left, and you know the story.... Everyone is on it!

Okay, now that I have gotten that off of my chest, I can honestly say that I DO hope they have kids just like them... Brave, honest, fun, thoughtful, generous, sweet, lovable, kind, funny... And the list goes on. I know that the stubbornness, outspokenness, and boldness will help them get through life if they channel those qualities towards what is right, true, and good. I just happen to be the one with the file, filing the rough edges. It's a tough job, but I guess God thinks I have what it takes to get the job done.

How about you? What tough jobs does God think you are qualified for? Whatever it is, do it well, fully knowing that He has given you the tools you need. Really, He will... Check your toolbox; everything you'll need is in there.

Wings

One of the stages of motherhood I am currently in, is the one where I am having to let go, and allow wings to spread, and souls to fly. It is not an easy stage, but like to think I am handling it well. I learned many years ago that worry does not keep my kids any safer, and it certainly wreaks havoc on me, so I hand them over to God. Of course, that also means I do all I can to prepare them for the many adventures in life. You see, I truly believe that my children are God's first; He has given them to me for a time, and I am not allowed to know how long that will be. I pray it will be for my entire life on this planet, but I know that He can call them home at any time. Any amount of worry will never change that, so I choose to trust that God will keep them safe, and if anything should happen, Jesus will carry me through.

Having said that, let me share Alexa's story. Picture a junior in high school heading for a day of shopping with her friend. I'm sure the car is filled with music, talk, and laughter. They were heading to a town that actually has a mall, unlike our little town. It is an hour and a half away, on winter roads. I wasn't totally worried, but wanted to make sure she made it to her destination. So, this hip chick texted her daughter... "Did you make it to the mall?" Then came her reply... "Well, yeah, but were in Eau Claire." Eau Claire?!?! You now need some information. The town she was in was in the OPPOSITE DIRECTION of the town she was going to! She went south instead of north, and the scary thing is, she didn't realize she was going the wrong way until she was over an hour from home!!

Now, I fully realize the humor in all of this. My own mom was laughing so hard she could barely speak. Especially when I revealed the information Alexa revealed to me.... this wasn't the first time she has done this! The last time, she realized she was heading the wrong way out of town about 10 minutes after she left. That information did not make me feel any better! Does she not read signs? Does she not have a plan in her head before she leaves town? I guess she doesn't. I think she will now though, since she has sat through lectures form both my husband and me!

This all happened a week ago. Yesterday, she had to drive to the cities, three hours away. I was more nervous about that than I was about the trip she was going on! Let me tell you, she had plenty of detailed maps and directions, and I made sure she had a picture in her head of what direction she would be heading out of town!

I was feeling strong about it all, until about 20 minutes after she left. Suddenly, I was taken back to the day she had to ride a bus in kindergarten. That twinge of panic weaved its ugly way through my body. I remember that day well. It was 12 years ago, in the morning. I knew Alexa would have to ride a bus after school, and be dropped of at the preschool I was working at. Fearful thoughts, and "What if's" swept through my mind. As I was standing in the laundry room, I suddenly felt peace being poured over me. I could literally feel it, as if there was a pitcher above my head. It started at the top of my head, and made its way down to my toes. It was a feeling I will never forget. Later that day, I found out it was at the same time that dear friends of mine were praying for me! They knew my fears, and prayed for peace. Wow!

I am happy to say that Alexa called last night from her destination!! It was her first time driving in the cities, on freeways, and she loved it. She's my city girl.

Her wings grew a little longer last night, and although I had the scissors in my hands the entire time, and the authority to clip them, I chose not to. I gave her to God, and together they flew.

Conniptions

There is something that I don't handle well.

I never have, and tonight it was proven that I still do not...

at all.

What is it?

Vomit.

All of you moms out there know it comes with the territory; it's inevitable. It doesn't mean however, that we all handle it with the grace of June Cleaver.

Brynn, my 4 year-old was exhausted tonight. She suddenly complained of a stomach ache at bedtime. She is my fourth child, so my first instinct was to quickly say, "Do you feel like you're going to throw up?" Actually, it is quite amazing how just the thought of it makes me drop everything and turn in a flash, preparing to scoop up a queasy child, and sprint to the toilet. If there was an Olympic race of rushing sick kids to the bathroom, I'm sure I would be a contender for the gold. You see, cleaning up vomit is ... it's... well, I simply cannot convey how much I detest it.

So, after Brynn assured me she wasn't going to toss her cookies, I breathed a sigh of relief, chalked it up to exhaustion from starting a new school year, and tucked her in.

Right!

A few minutes later, I heard the pitter-patter of little feet scurrying down the hallway, followed by a weak, "Mommy?!" It is fascinating how a mother just knows things. I looked at Brynn and yelled, "Run to the toilet!!!!" She turned around and ran down the hall, vomiting all the way. She made the corner, and planted one last gigantic hurl in the bathroom. All the while, this tired, frazzled mom is yelling, "Nooooooooo!!!!!!!!!! Oh #*%#" Then there was 5 year-old Jack, making all sorts of disgusting sounds as he watched the entertainment in the hallway. I hollered at him to close the door and get in bed. Within the next two minutes he needed a band-aid and a glass of water, and.... "Can't you see what I am cleaning up?!," followed by, "I wouldn't ask Mommy for anything right now if I were you!"

Well, there you have it; the confessions of a mom who blew it. I could have handled the situation so much better. I was feeling really guilty about it, when something suddenly dawned on me. Every one of my kids have now witnessed one of my Vomit Conniptions. There was the time my son threw up over his bed. He was on the top bunk. Mmm Hmm. I know another involved a car; and then there was the new carpet. So, I decided that it is because of these conniptions, that my kids are now such good patients. You see, I'm a great nurse when there is a bucket, a can of Lysol, and Kleenex. The kids never even have to leave their beds! We have a great system down, and I stay calm as can be. June Cleaver would be proud!

As for the conniptions...

I'll be sure to pack terrific therapists' business cards in their suitcases when they head off on their own.

Reentry

Last week I traveled to Chicago. I absolutely love Chicago. Now I must admit that I had to drag my husband and teenage son there, but my 16 year-old daughter was as excited as I was to go. You see, my husband is a truck driver, and the only thing he knew of Chicago was traffic and loading docks; his view was tainted. We went with just our oldest kids, and left our 4 & 5 year-old kids with Grandma Bunny and "Auntie" Rachel. Prior to our trip I would sit and imagine what it was going to be like to have uninterrupted dinner conversations. Ahhhh...

I must say it was wonderful. Michigan Avenue, Navy Pier, Medieval Times dinner theater, shopping and peaceful dinners. It was quite a treat. My personal favorite was the Art Institute. If you ever get a chance to go, please do not pass up the opportunity. The artwork I saw took my breath away, and I must admit brought tears to my eyes. It was so amazing. I fully expected to find a treasure to take home at the gift shop, but after seeing Monet and Renoir originals, what could possibly compare? I walked out with nothing; just seeing the works of beauty was gift enough.

The day we got home, I picked up Jack and Brynn and headed to Pizza Hut. The kids took a shot at winning a stuffed animal from the Claw Machine, and to no surprise to me, they didn't win. I tried to warn them ahead of time, but it was to no avail. Brynn, who was extremely tired, had an absolute meltdown. The dear manager felt sorry for her, so he gave them each 50 cents to try again. Great. It's not that I didn't appreciate his generosity, it's just that she was finally starting to calm down, and I'm sure all you mothers can predict the outcome. Yep, you're right... no animal... total meltdown once again.

As I was standing waiting for service, I looked at the lady standing next to me. "Yesterday," I said, "I was at the Art Institute in Chicago looking at original paintings by Van Gough, Renoir.... Monet and Degas,"(whom by the way painted the ballerinas at the Paris Opera House... you know... the Phantom of the Opera setting... my favorite movie of all time!!!). As I am telling her this, Brynn is still wailing on the bench behind me. "I'll take a martini to go," I said.

She laughed.

I decided that reentry is tough.

I've started to readjust to reality. When things get hectic, I just close my eyes and picture the breathtaking artwork I saw... it is truly a feast for the eyes, and music to the soul.

As hard as reentry sometime is, I must say that it is good to be home. Nothing can compare to big hugs, lots of kisses, and a ton of "I love yous."

Trying to Take My Own Advice

Yesterday I wrote about ignoring the things that bug you, and paying attention to the things that truly matter.

I am trying to do just that.

I am really, truly trying to pay attention... through clenched teeth.

What happens when the things that bug you are so loud that you cannot hear the quiet little voices of beauty? You know, when the annoying inconveniences are yelling, screaming, grabbing your attention. How can you concentrate on the beautiful symphonies of life?

You are probably wondering what is going on. Oh, just the simple frustrations of motherhood. You know... repeating commands to no avail, sticky floors, revolving messes, kids taking 2 hours to eat a perfectly good meal, whining, tattling, and so on. Let me share...

Has anyone ever told you that kids are gross? Especially boys. I don't know... I think those girls are onto something with the whole "boys have cooties" thing. My 5 1/2 year-old son has decided lately that wiping, flushing, and the washing of grubby hands after using the toilet, are no longer necessary duties in his daily routine. GROSS! This is the same kid who will change his clothes if they get a bit dirty! What's with that?! After picking at his food at the kitchen table for about AN HOUR, Jack needed to use the bathroom. He came back, and started to eat. Wait a minute... no flushing sound, no water. GROSS! I marched him back to the bathroom while giving him the, "You can make everyone in this family very, very sick...." speech. He shrugged it off, washed his hands, then started picking at his cold, sorry dinner. As I was putting away clean towels, I noticed Brynn's toothbrush and toothpaste in the sink... not on the counter top, but IN the sink.(Why on earth should it be put back in the medicine cabinet? It's just going to be needed tomorrow, anyway.) Then it dawned on me... "JAAAACCKK! Was Brynn's toothbrush in the sink when you washed your hands????!!!" Okay ladies, you've all witnessed the look. The, "Yeah... so... what's the big deal?" look. GROSS!!!!

That's it.

Kids are gross.

The toothbrush is in the garbage.

I'm trying to pay attention.

Oops

We got a "new to us" car today. My daughter is thrilled because, heaven forbid should a 16 year-old, with a driver's license, ever be caught dead riding the bus to school! I am happy to report that no, she has not actually died of embarrassment.

She got to take the car out for the first time by herself tonight. (That was after I showed up at school, with the windows down, and Crank Dat Soulja Boy jammin'. This chick tries to be cool for her kids!) So, she was all set to go. She started the car, put her right arm behind the passenger's seat, looking back as she stepped on the gas to back up. She went forward! Let me just say, I am relishing in the sight of that one! Yes, I was there watching, and laughing my head off!

I now have some new ammunition.

Ammunition is a good thing to have when dealing with teenagers.

I am still laughing.

Speechless

I'm actually at a loss for words other than, "Where's her super-hero cape?" (Click on Check this out to find out why.)

Check this out...

Help?!... Anyone?!

So, I was making dinner the other night, when I was pulled away from the kitchen due to a clogged toilet. Great. Ugh.

Four kids using one bathroom, and no one fesses up to clogging it. No one offers to help unclog it.

Plunge, plunge, plunge away.

No good. Plunge some more. This clog took some muscle. Who needs to go to the gym when one has clogged toilets to plunge? Gross.

As I was plunging, the timer went off, telling us all that dinner was ready... ready to be taken out of the oven, that is. Beep, beep, beep...

No Calvary.

Beep, beep. beep... (plunge, plunge, plunge...)

Surely, somebody will take the fish and potatoes out of the oven for me.

Beep, beep, beep...

Next came the smoke alarm due to the not-so-spic-and-span oven.

BEEP, BEEP, BEEP...

The timer and smoke alarm are now both going off in unison as I plunge away, and NO ONE shows up to help!

I couldn't decide if I was angry that they were oblivious to the situation, or envious! I wish I could ignore life's BEEPS sometimes!

Help?!... Anyone?!

As the World Turns

I have two teenagers, and two toddlers. I know what you're thinking.... "What were you thinking?!!!!!" Well, that is altogether another story, but let me sum it up as, "When God wants you to have a child, there's no stopping Him!".

So, my experience has given me the wisdom to know the difference between teenagers and toddlers. Size. That's it. The difference between teenagers and toddlers is the size of their bodies; otherwise, it's "Me, Me, It's All About ME!"

I was not prepared for the concept of the world revolving around them to reappear at age 11 or so. I was quite taken aback, in fact. "But no," I reminded my firstborn, "the world does not revolve around you. Don't you remember? I taught you that when you were two!" She didn't remember. Either did my son, and I'm sure memory loss will trickle down to my third and fourth children as well.

I read a little ditty awhile back that is priceless. I must post it in my home. "No, the world does not revolve around you... you're just dizzy."

I have four very dizzy children... that are loved very, very much.

Get A Grip!

I bought some tea the other day.
It sits in my windowsill above my kitchen sink. A reminder to this frazzled mom... get a grip, it tells me. I've needed that reminder lately as I make my way through the fog of temper tantrums, a new driver in the house, and a son who has been really good at being 13 lately.

Get a grip.
Get a grip.
Get a grip.

It claims that I will find hormonal balance. Balance is a good thing. Every woman could use some hormonal balance, just ask the people living with her! So, I will sit, sip, and get some balance in my life. And for this day, I will heed its' advice. I will take a deep breath, and get a good grip.

The Invisible Woman

I received this story the other day, from my friend Debbie. It is written by Nicole Johnson, and touched me so much that I knew I had to share it. I hope it is an inspiration to you.

The Invisible Woman

By Nicole Johnson

It started to happen gradually. One day I was walking my son Jake to school. I was holding his hand and we were about to cross the street when the crossing guard said to him, "Who is that with you, young fella?" "Nobody," he shrugged. "Nobody?" The crossing guard and I laughed. My son is only 5, but as we crossed the street, I thought, "Oh my goodness, nobody?" I would walk into a room and no one would notice. I would say something to my family - like "Turn the TV down, please" - and nothing would happen. Nobody would get up, or even make a move for the remote. I would stand there for a minute, and then I would say again, a little louder, "Would someone turn the TV down?" Nothing. Just the other night my husband and I were out at a party. We'd been there for about three hours and I was ready to leave. I noticed he was talking to a friend from work. So I walked over, and when there was a break in the conversation, I whispered, "I'm ready to go when you are." He just kept right on talking. That's when I started to put all the pieces together. I don't think he can see me. I don't think anyone can see me. I'm invisible. It all began to make sense, the blank stares, the lack of response, the way one of the kids will walk into the room while I'm on the phone and ask to be taken to the store. Inside I'm thinking, "Can't you see I'm on the phone?" Obviously not! No one can see if I'm on the phone, or cooking, or sweeping the floor, or even standing on my head in the corner, because no one can see me at all. I'm invisible. Some days I am only a pair of hands, nothing more: Can you fix this? Can you tie this? Can you open this? Some days I'm not a pair of hands; I'm not even a human being. I'm a clock to ask, "What time is it?" I'm a satellite guide to answer, "What number is the Disney Channel?" I'm a car to order, "Right around 5:30, please." I was certain that these were the hands that once held books and the eyes that studied history and the mind that graduated summa cum laude -but now they had disappeared into the peanut butter, never to be seen again. She's going, she's going, she's gone! One night, a group of us were having dinner, celebrating the return of a friend from England. Janice had just gotten back from a fabulous trip, and she was going on and on about the hotel she stayed in. I was sitting there, looking around at the others all put together so well. It was hard not to compare and feel sorry for myself as I looked down at my out-of-style dress; it was the only thing I could find that was clean. My unwashed hair was pulled up in a banana clip and I was afraid I could actually smell peanut butter in it. I was feeling pretty pathetic, when Janice turned to me with a beautifully wrapped package, and said, "I brought this for you." It was a book on the great cathedrals of Europe. I wasn't exactly sure why she'd given it to me until I read her inscription: "To Charlotte, with admiration for the greatness of what you are building when no one sees." In the days ahead I would read - no, devour - the book. And I would discover what would become for me, four life-changing truths, after which I could pattern my work: *No one can say who built the great cathedrals - we have no record of their names. *These builders gave their whole lives for a work they would never see finished. *They made great sacrifices and expected no credit. * The passion of their building was fueled by their faith that the eyes of God saw everything. A legendary story in the book told of a rich man who came to visit the cathedral while it was being built, and he saw a workman carving a tiny bird on the inside of a beam. He was puzzled and asked the man, "Why are you spending so much time carving that bird into a beam that will be covered by the roof? No one will ever see it." And the workman replied,"Because God sees." I closed the book, feeling the missing piece fall into place. It was almost as if I heard God whispering to me, "I see you, Charlotte. I see the sacrifices you make every day, even when no one around you does. No act of kindness you've done, no sequin you've sewn on, no cupcake you've baked, is too small for me to notice and smile over. You are building a great cathedral, but you can't see right now what it will become." At times, my invisibility feels like an affliction. But it is not a disease that is erasing my life. It is the cure for the disease of my own self-centeredness. It is the antidote to my strong, stubborn pride. I keep the right perspective when I see myself as a great builder. As one of the people who show up at a job that they will never see finished, to work on something that their name will never be on. The writer of the book went so far as to say that no cathedrals could ever be built in our lifetime because there are so few people willing to sacrifice to that degree. When I really think about it, I don't want my son to tell the friend he's bringing home from college for Thanksgiving, "My mom gets up at 4 in the morning and bakes homemade pies, and then she hand bastes a turkey for three hours and presses all the linens for the table." That would mean I'd built a shrine or a monument to myself. I just want him to want to come home. And then, if there is anything more to say to his friend, to add, "You're gonna love it there." As mothers, we are building great cathedrals. We cannot be seen if we're doing it right. And one day, it is very possible that the world will marvel, not only at what we have built,but at the beauty that has been added to the world by the sacrifices of invisible women.