How I Spent My Summer Vacation....

Okay, so school technically started about three weeks ago. And fine, I'm not even the one in school. Whatever.  I'm still going to uphold the fine tradition of English teachers across the nation, and write about my summer vacation. 

My starter baby, my fake-it-til-you-make-it introduction to parenting, graduated from high school. After a lot of late night anguish over homework, stomach aches over girlfriends, Snoopy happy dances because of football games and track meets, and more tears than can ever be counted. And all of that was on my part! But we got him there.

And then he had the nerve to turn 18. He's a big boy now, and able to make big boy choices. And apparently able to withstand big boy pain.  After several years of talking about it, many design and design alterations; after getting my solemn pinkie promise to not only go along with him, but to get one of my own; I celebrated the 18th anniversary of 18 hours of hard labor-the worst pain imaginable (well, had I not been under the most awesome influence of a superb epidural!) by getting a tattoo with the Teenager.

 
My baby, my Bug, decided that this would be a perfect time to venture into his own teenage-hood. He turned 13 this year. I'm still not sure he's telling me the truth about his birthday. I mean, I was there for his birth. And I'm certain it happened only a few short years ago.

This was also the summer I got to remember being 18 again. My 20-year high school reunion. As corny as it sounds, it truly was like no time at all had passed. I walked into the room, squealed when I saw my favorite people on the planet from 20 years ago, ran into hugs that simply defined Best Hug Ever, and the last 20 years melted off of each of us. And in my case? 100 pounds went right along with it.  I could pretend, for 72 hours, that I was just as I was then. Fortunately, my friends went right along with that alternate reality. There is a reason I love them.

And while that experience may be the highlight of my trip home this summer, it can possibly be topped by the journey there and back. Road trip with my boys!! We spent 14 hours, each direction, laughing and singing along in the car. We talked, about girls and life after high school. And we argued over who got to eat the last licorice rope. Had that stubborn Teenager not cheated by sticking them all in his mouth and sliding them back out again, covered in his slimy germs? I totally would have won that argument, too.

Back home again, and time was running out. We still had so much to do, and not a lot of time left.  In true-to-myself fashion, Bug and I fulfilled one of my promises to him in the Go Big or Go Home style we try to embrace here. He had been begging me to dye his hair purple since before school even got out in the spring. Finally, as I was wandering the hair color aisle at the grocery store, fate smiled upon my boy. Fate in the form of the ONLY box of purple hair coloring left on the shelf.  Only after I got it home and in his hair did I check to make sure it was a temporary dye, and is supposed to come out completely after about 24 shampoos. I'm not entirely sure he's using shampoo every morning in the shower, as there is still quite a bit of purple still in there.

And finally, we came to the end of our summer. School started in three days. Was there even time to fit anything else in? Honestly....who did they think they were dealing with?

Night Ranger. Foreigner. Journey.  We saw them all in one night. No matter that the boys really had no idea who Night Ranger was. That portion of the concert was really more for me. But when Journey took the stage? Both my boys (and a couple of extra teenagers I'd picked up for the fun! Mouse and another friend of the Teenager's) were on their feet for the entire set, dancing and air-guitaring their way through song after song. In the rain, because is there a better way to enjoy lawn seats to an amazing concert?

I don't think I realized just how amazing my summer truly was, until just this moment. It was so .... full .... and I didn't even talk about Bug's last All Star baseball experience (beyond amazing!), or the soul-soothing visit with my own mama while I was home for my reunion.

Oh! And did I mention I got a fabulous new haircut?

Huh. Maybe all of those English teachers really do know what they're doing when they ask for these essays, after all.

A Daughter Wouldn't Have Cared

A three day weekend. Nothing to do but be lazy. Don't even need to get dressed if I don't want to.  I was soooo looking forward to that. And then...the Teenager ruined it.

We've had a long standing agreement, he and I.  He would warn me if he had friends walking in the door, and I'd make sure I was wearing a bra when they did.  After all, I'm just a little too endowed, and gravity has taken too cruel of a toll, for me to run around in front of teenage boys with no bra on. I don't recall if it was started at his suggestion or mine, but it has worked very well for us. No embarrassment for anyone.

So here I sat, being lazy, and I hear him holler at me..."Mom! Put a bra on!"

Damn. Friends are coming over.

I know that at one point, what I wanted most out of being a mom was having the house everyone loved to come to. I wanted all of their friends to be so comfortable with me that they'd all call me "Mom" and just walk in my front door.  And they do.

It is possible, though, that I didn't think this through very well. I didn't take into account that I would really, really, really want to spend a full few days with no restricting underclothes on.

Having daughters might have been easier, since I wouldn't have to worry so much about boobs and how they'd be worried about, but it would have been nowhere near as entertaining as having sons.

Do You Remember?

It was like my yearbook came to life, and for three days I was 18 again. 

My high school reunion was last weekend. Twenty years. How is that possible? Wasn't it yesterday that I was slamming my locker shut, running down the hall and ducking into the choir room because I decided at the last minute to ditch math class (again), and didn't want to get caught?  Didn't I just walk out of the lunchroom, carrying the most fabulous breakfast burrito I can ever remember, and walk backstage for some performance or another?  And I'm fairly certain that it was just last week that we were all hanging out in the Homecoming King's barn until the wee hours of the morning.

We've all changed. We've all grown up. We've all become responsible adults and contributing members of society. (Well, most of us.)  And yet, for three days, we were all those 18 year old kids who didn't know how to worry about anything beyond tomorrow. 

As we walked into the bar on Friday night (okay, so that may be one benefit to being older....) one by one, looking around for a familiar face, it was amazing.  Someone would call out a name, everyone would look, there would be some squeals (yes, fine, that was me...), a lot of "How have you BEEN???", and some of the best hugs ever hugged in the history of hugging.

No one, and I mean NO ONE, hugs quite like an old friend.

Each time I'd look at one of these people that I had loved so much back then, I didn't see their faces or bodies as they are now. I saw them as they were then.  Every new conversation started with "Do you remember me?"  To which we would hear, "Of COURSE I remember you!! How could I NOT?"

Not a single conversation lagged. Not one awkward moment was experienced. Not even one minute of transition. It was like the last 20 years simply wasn't there. Friendships picked back up. Flirtations were continued. And we were all left wondering why we'd let it all slip by us.

Later that weekend, when Bug asked me if I'd been popular in high school, it got me to thinking.  No, I don't think I was. At least, not by the typical definition. But looking back at my high school years, looking back at my reunion weekend, I have to say this.  I may not have been "popular", but I was loved. And remembered.

In my eyes, that counts more than having been popular. Popularity fades. Love? Well, it picks right back up where it last saw you.

Even with twenty years in the middle.  



Senior Year



20yr Reunion



A Peek Inside My Mind This Morning....

How in the world do I go about planning a graduation *sob* party that the Teenager not only won't be embarrassed to attend himself, but would even invite people to?

And, um...how do I plan that graduation *sob* party on what amounts to a non-existent budget?

Oh.Gawd. Graduation. *sob*  So not cool of him to do this to me.

I have a giant bag of giant lemons. What on Earth am I going to do with these? I don't cook anything fancy enough to call for real lemons.

Bug is the most awesomest compliment giver. They are always so immediate upon noticing something that there is no way he's not being truthful. Both my ego and my heart just loves that.

He's also the best hugger. When he's old enough, and I refuse to accept that he's old enough now at almost 13, those two traits are going to make him soooo popular with the girls. *groan*  Ugh.

I am really wishing that carbonation didn't make me feel super bloaty. I'm almost totally against giving up my massive morning mug of Diet Dr. Pepper from the QT.  But this bloaty thing? Ugh.

WooHoo!

As a parent, you face a lot of "firsts" as you go along. First words. First steps. First chin hair. (For your son; although it's totally realistic to count your own, too.) First girlfriend. First serious girlfriend. First, no-I-really-mean-it-this-time serious girlfriend.  Have you ever stopped to think, just for a minute, that you really only focus on the firsts that come from your kids? 

I didn't. Not until I heard that the daughter of a childhood friend of mine is now expecting a baby.  That's when it hit me. I had managed to completely avoid a major parental first.

I am NOT the first of my friends to become a grandma.

That one thought made me smile for HOURS.  Seriously. Hours. 

Sometimes it truly is the little things in life, isn't it?

I Win!

If ever there was one thing that my Bug is spectacular at, it's taking you off guard by saying the most random (randomest?) word or phrase, just when you're working up a really good mad.

One of the biggest pet peeves that Coach has is when he's watching something on TV, and someone talks. Feel free to converse during the commercials; he'll even respond. But talk once that show comes back on? And you get the *very* evil stink eye.  So naturally, this is something the boys do regularly. Often as sort of a competition, to see who can get the steam to billow out of dad's ears the quickest.  And if I'm being honest, I'm usually right in there with them.  It's one of the best entertainment options available to us right now.

The other night the boys and I were going back and forth, taking our turns interrupting the show. To Coach's credit, he's generally fairly wise to us and just pauses the show until we get tired of the game. But this night, it seemed to be taking a lot longer for us to get tired of it.  So we'd be waiting, pouncing with a comment or two just as soon as he un-paused the show. Eventually, though, it slowed down to the point where Coach felt safe attempting to watch TV again. We even let the program run for a minute or so. But the boys and I kept looking at each other, waiting patiently.  The moment would come......

Just as Coach was good and engrossed, Bug simply said the word "Dad".  I swear, that man's head turned completely around on his shoulders, exorcist-style, and he pinned Bug with The Look. He paused the show, without taking his evil stink eyes off Bug, and simply said, "What."

With a great big smile, and a truly contagious laugh, Bug looked at his dad and said, "I win!"

That man went down like a giant tree. There was just no staying mad after that.

Absolutely Positively

There are some certainties in life that you can count on. The sun will rise tomorrow, the boys will argue over the right way to advance past any random obstacle in whatever the video game of the day is, Coach will fall asleep on Christmas Eve long before it's time to wrap the gifts and place them under the tree, and just when I'm convinced I'm going to give up on the lot of them, they will each do something that saves their lives...um, endears them to me once again.

Things like shouting "HI MOM!" from across the room when his brother is on the phone with me. Or cutting himself off mid-whine to solve his own dilemma about baseball pants.  Or searching high and low on the Internet to make sure he gets me exactly what I want, and the only thing I asked for, at a price even I won't make a fuss over. (Bill and Ted AND the B-52's, for less than $20 for BOTH! Santa loves me, yes he does!)

These things keep me coming back to this insanity night after night, when it would be so easy to just keep driving past my exit on the interstate.  Well, these things and the fact that there simply isn't anyone else on the planet who hugs me just like these three guys do. Protected, loved and cherished; these hugs are as much a haven for me as they are for my boys.  Which totally explains why I torture them night after night, day after day, in front of friends and girlfriends; demanding that they march themselves over and hug me.

There is, of course, one more certainty in life. That being the absolute certainty of my love of toe socks, and sharing that love with my recently-brainwashed-to-the-dark-side-with-me nieces.

Random Rocks...Like Music, Not Actual Stones.

Since I began having children (listen to me, sounding like I'm trying to give the Duggars a run for their money...haha!), I've noticed a lot of randomness. Random items left around my house, random things to see in the world that were never noticed before, and random things both said and heard.  I've decided that random is good. Random is funny. Random is.....well, it just is.

For instance, I notice an awful lot of random articles of clothing in my house. Or more accurately, clothing left in random places. T-shirts stuffed in the sofa cushions. Socks (non-matching, incidentally) under the coffee table. Baseball cleats in the bathroom. Shorts in the garage. Belts in my truck. (And while that may not technically be my house, we spend nearly enough time there to call it a vacation home and use it as a tax write off.)  See? Random.

I also find great joy and amusement in the random verbal vomit that often spews out of my children. Take the other night. My loving children and doting husband had taken a quiet moment to find out what I would like for Christmas. (Read: I had to raise my voice to be heard over the football game and the clowning around to take an opportunity to make sure they knew that I did not really want another set of towels--lovely though they were--this year.)  So when I said, "Okay guys, know what I really really want this year?" and Bug, with no warning whatsoever, looks up and shouts "CHICKEN!!!".... well, we all laughed until we cried and our bellies cramped up.

For the record, I do NOT want chicken this year for Christmas, either. Unless it comes disguised as a nice dinner out at a restaurant that doesn't shove what may or may not actually be chicken inside a soft flour tortilla, throw in a drink and chips and call it a "combo" meal. Oh, and it should include an after dinner treat of my very own copy of Bill and Ted's Excellent Adventure and a B52's CD.

Is There A Class I Can Take?

I'm the mom. I'm the one responsible for making sure everyone eats right (or just eats, for that matter), has clean clothing to wear, and showers every day. Or every other day. Okay, fine. At least weekly. They're boys. Until someone prettier than I am starts holding her nose around them, they aren't caring much about how they smell.

The Teenager? Showers as often as possible. Thank you, Mouse!  Bug? Has discovered the benefits to daily showering. Gee, thanks Girls of Junior High. I think I could have waited just a bit longer for your influence to lend strength to my own.

But I digress....

Being the mom means you are the one who does all the Serious Stuff. The stuff that makes them frown and argue, stomp their feet and slam doors. The stuff that makes them look at you and roll their eyes, because how on Earth can they possibly share any genetic markers with you when you are so amazingly NOT cool? Being the mom also means you are the one responsible for making sure all the Important Stuff gets accomplished. Stuff like homework every night, birthday calls to Grandma or Uncle Bob, and picking up the week's worth of socks that have been left scattered from the living room...down the hall....in the bathroom...and finally, maybe, in their bedroom. Important Stuff like college and scholarship applications, or even just FINALLY DECIDING ONCE AND FOR ALL whether he is going to go to a college of some sort after graduation or join the military.

What being the mom usually does NOT mean is that you are the one who has the privilege of making them laugh until their tummies cramp and tears are rolling down their faces. Which makes moments like that all the more special, even if they do come at your expense.

Apparently, my attempts to whistle are just awesome for those moments.

A Walk Down Memory Lane

Sundays are lazy days around here. Although I suppose Coach gets more exercise on Sundays than any other day of the week, what with all the jumping, fist pumping and/or sofa pillow throwing that gets done during football games. So maybe Sundays are just lazy days for me. Whatever.

And in the true spirit of laziness, I just can't quite bring my fingers to type a completely unique, never before read, post. And so you are going to get links. Links to some of my favorite posts from the last three years (ohmahgawd...can you believe I've been wandering aimlessly through this blogosphere for THREE YEARS??).   I was trolling through them today, and thought I'd re-share them.

We are embarking on a spirit of recycling here in my house these days, after all.

Bug's first day of the last year of being a little boy.

What I suspect might be the secret to long lasting friendships.

The Teenager's strength and character.

Proof that even being married as long as we have, I can still drive him crazy. 

Happy Lazy Sunday, everyone!

My Children SHOULD Be A Reflection of Me

Excuse me...pardon me....'scuse me...

Woman with a soapbox coming through....

*Whew*  Thanks. That thing was getting heavy. Now's your chance to run, though, before I get started on my rant. Go on. Go now, before I start. It's kind of rude to leave after I've gotten into the groove, ya know?

Still here? Well, you were warned....

I was listening to the radio on my way into the office this morning. Nothing new in that. One of the DJ's (or I suppose we're supposed to call them "radio personalities" now..??) was talking about something she had read in the news recently that talked about how studies have shown that people with daughters have a higher divorce rate, as well as higher numbers of single mothers with daughters as opposed to sons.  The speculation was that women with daughters have a greater incentive to leave bad relationships so that they can set a good example of the "right" men to be in a relationship with. Certainly, that is something all mothers should aspire to teach their daughters.

But what about teaching our sons how to be the right kind of man?

Why is this something that only men can teach?  Why shouldn't mothers be equally responsible for teaching their sons how to treat women in general, and their life partners specifically? For that matter, mothers....how about setting a good example for your sons about what makes the "right" woman?

I want my sons to not only know and accept, but to embrace as right, that women should be able and encouraged to stand up for themselves. I want my sons to actively seek out women who openly support them in their dreams and promote their goals.  I want my sons to gravitate towards women who look beyond all the physical trappings (because as handsome as my boys are, that will only go so far) into the heart and soul of them. I want my sons to enter into relationships knowing that the strong ones, the good ones, can withstand some differences of opinion; and yes, even some arguing. I think my boys need to demonstrate their belief that it's okay to let your significant other have a personality that most likely will not mirror their own.

I want my sons to take this knowledge and these beliefs, and use them. I want my sons to show the important women in their lives that they are important as individual people as well as part of the relationship. I want the women in my sons' lives to know, deep into their souls, that they matter to my sons. And that because they matter, my boys will never be the kind of men that ever make a woman feel like less than she is or could be.

So tell me, mothers of daughters, why are you the only mothers held responsible for setting good examples for your children? Wouldn't you want your daughter to look for the kind of man my sons are going to grow into?

And shouldn't I be held just as accountable for those men as you will ultimately be for the woman your daughter grows into?

I think I should be.

Who Defines Good Parenting?

Do you ever wonder what makes someone a good parent? I know I wonder all the time, and then I worry about whether or not I'm doing those things. Am I reading the right books? Do I watch the right TV shows? Do I seek advice from the correct experts? Am I enforcing the right rules? Do I sing the right song and dance the right dance?  Do I....Am I.....Can I....Should I....?

Grr. It's enough to make a mother's head explode. And while that might be highly entertaining the to the people I'm parenting, it probably wouldn't be the best way to be a good parent. After all, who needs a mother with a head that has exploded all over the place. Messy. Great science project material, but still messy. And I know my kids are not the kids who enjoy cleaning up messes. Especially messes created by someone else. And really....what mother wants to be forced to clean up her own head explosion?

Sorry. Went off on a tangent there.

I guess my whole point is that since each child is a different and unique person, parenting techniques should be different and unique to each child. Easier said than done, and yet....not. Think about it. If you don't have to follow set rules for how to work best with your child, doesn't it make it easier to tailor your approach to that temper tantrum or the first time they break curfew? Groundings, spankings, time outs, loss of privileges and playthings. The avid reader LOVES being grounded.... means no one is telling her to put down the book and get outside. The kid who doesn't really use his cell phone for much other than talking to YOU isn't going to be that upset when you take away the phone for a week. Or the household with only one car, making drive time almost non-existent for the teenage driver.....not a huge punishment to have the keys taken away.

I don't know if I'm a good parent. I don't think there is any real way to know for sure. I know people tell me THEY think I am. Heck, my boys even tell me they think I am, although that could just be their insurance against things like taking away the cell phones and the keys to the truck. I could just be really lucky that my kids aren't in jail, flunking out of school, and a general menace to society.

And that could be why I have never won a single thing in Vegas. I've used up all my luck raising awesome kids.

A Little Bit of Absence....A Little Bit of Growth

Yes, I know I haven't been around here much lately. In fact, I've been so absent that I'm fairly certain most of you, upon seeing a new post pop up in your reader, are finding yourselves wondering just who the heck this Sports Mama person is. And if you DO remember me, you're most likely saying to yourself Oh thank goodness! I was afraid she'd been kidnapped by aliens or joined a cult where she had to give up everything and everyone! What a relief to see her here again!

Or not. But whatever. I'm here again. At least for today.

But! But! But!  It seems I've gone and surprised myself with a few things on these days I haven't been here. For instance, did any of you out there ever know what an amazingly awesome thing SLEEP is?? Or to be more specific, sleeping for more than 3-4 hours a night? Why didn't anyone ever tell me? Or perhaps more accurately, why didn't anyone ever shove a sleep aid down my throat and make a believer out of me before now?

I've also rediscovered what a great sitting-on-the-sofa-catching-up-on-all-our-favorite-shows-that-we-missed-during-baseball-season-and-cuddling sort of man my husband is.  (Don't worry. I didn't expect any of you to have already known that one.)

And......I've also rediscovered what an amazingly forgetful person I can be. Because I know that many, many times I've emerged from a situation or conversation, and thought AH! I need to remember to blog about that when I get back to a computer!. And then..... forgotten. (It's okay. If you already know this truth about me, there really wasn't anything you could have done to help avoid it. Unless you followed me around all day with a laptop, typing everything I say. Any volunteers for that job? The pay is ridiculously low, and there are no health benefits; but you'd get to see the inner workings of my mind. Not enough of an incentive? *sigh* Okay then.)

There are also some things happening in our little household that will most certainly create a shift in our lives as we know them, at the least.  Bug?  Is going into 7th grade. Where there are girls. That like like him. Girls that have prompted the question Mom, how do I talk to them? No, really....what, exactly, am I supposed to say after I say hello??

Jock? Have mercy; this boy is going to be a Senior in high school this fall. And (and this might be possibly the most surprising life-shift happening).... he is fairly certain that he does NOT want to play football this year. That's okay, you can go back and read that again. It was strange to us, too.  But as he and I sat on the track one night at about 11:30pm, between events at a decathlon he was participating in he looked at me and said Mom, I've fallen in love with track. With how good I am at it. With everything about it. With track, I can actually see myself going somewhere with it.

So that's where I've been. Sitting on my sofa, cuddling with my husband, trying to help one son figure out how to get where he wants to go, and praising the other for having enough character to not only recognize a new path in life, but the strength and confidence to take it.

And somewhere in there?  I'm learning how to let go of each of them a little bit more. It's a good thing I've rediscovered cuddling with Coach. It's giving me something to hold onto when my arms are feeling emptier.

These Are A Few Of My Favorite Things....

A perfectly pitched ball by Bug that sails through for "Strike Three!"...
Those 23.3 seconds of time when the Teenager is speeding past everyone else....
Hearing Coach tell me I'm right... about anything.....

Getting an email from one of my favorite friends, just wondering how the heck I am....
Having someone tell me they envy how easy it is for me to lose myself in all the testosterone in my house....
Opening a fortune cookie with an actual fortune in it, not just some stupid meaningless drivel....

The smells of freshly mowed grass and the air after a rain storm....
The very first sip of a soda fresh from the fountain.....
Feeling Coach's fingers playing with my hair...

Finding just enough change in my purse or jacket pocket to stop for a chocolate donut on the way into work in the morning....
The first 30 seconds in the sun after leaving a too-cold air conditioned room....
Laying down to bed at night and feeling your head find just the right spot on the pillow as soon as it hits.....

Getting a phone call at bedtime and hearing "Mom, I miss you!", even though I'm only gone just one night....
Getting a text from the Teenager on the way to school in the morning, telling me he loves me.....
Coming home after being gone and walking into a hug from Coach that feels..... perfect.

Just Call Me Rudy

Determination. Endurance. Conviction. Strength of will. The ability to look at the mountain and treat it like the molehill.  Belief in yourself.

For the Teenager, these things have led him to go out for a sport he's NEVER tried before. And these things carried him onto the Varsity track team; into track meets where there are over 70 schools competing in each event; into races where the odds seem to be stacked against a kid who's never competed at this level before. And these things have brought him across the finish line with an amazingly fast time, to place no lower than third in his strongest event. In every meet he's competed in.

For Bug, these things have led him to face challenges daily that most kids his age don't ever have to face. And these things have carried him into a sport that constantly batters against his struggle to feel pride in himself and what he accomplishes, and forces comparisons against athletes that most likely aren't facing what he faces internally. But these things have brought him to a level in this sport that sees him keep a measure of pride in himself when he walks a batter rather than strike him out like he did the last one. And they keep showing him how to look for ways to improve rather than ways to tear himself down.

For Coach, these things have led him to holding onto a vehicle that would almost be better served by walking away from. And these things have pushed him into continuing to lift the hood to see why the engine once again isn't starting, or pulling off the inner door to find some way to fix the handle so he can actually get into the driver's side seat without opening the rear passenger door to open the front passenger door to climb over the front passenger seat just to be able to drive the blasted thing. And so these qualities have made it possible for him to hop on one of the boys' bikes so that he can ride the 10 miles to the auto parts store and the 10 miles back, with a bum knee, just to get the part he needs.

For me, these qualities have given me the push I need to keep going every day, knowing that it's not always enough. They have nudged me when I need the reminder, and they have allowed me to rejoice when I can finally see an outcome to something I haven't given up on--like finding out that the Teenager is planning on going to prom this year, instead of waiting until his senior year like he's kept threatening.

Determination. Endurance. Belief. Its just three things; three little things. They are so hard to practice, but the rewards are so unbelievably not little.

My Philosophical Side Is Showing

Strangely, I've been asked multiple times this week how I have managed to stay married for so long. I say strangely, because it's not my anniversary, nor are we having any particular problems or aguments that have prompted people to wonder how we've done it. Regardless, I've been asked. So I've had to think about what we may or may not have done. And I keep coming back to one thought.

It's not just MY marriage; it's HIS, too.

I think too often that partners forget that, if they even thought about it in the first place. How many new brides get caught up in the wedding they want, never giving their grooms a say in matters? How many times have you heard someone say I'm unhappy in MY marriage?  Well, if you're that unhappy, don't you think that maybe your partner is unhappy in THEIR marriage, too?

And that's what I try to remember every time I think I might be unhappy with something or other in MY marriage. After all, if MY marriage isn't all that is perfect, doesn't it stand to reason that my HUSBAND'S marriage ain't all that grand, either? So I tell myself that if I put the effort into making sure HIS marriage is happy for HIM, then MY marriage will fall into place. And you know what? That philosophy has seemed to work pretty well for 17 years.

Of all the many, many things I want my boys to know when they are turned loose into the world, how to navigate unselfishly through a relationship ranks up near the top. Not just a romantic relationship, although that is important; but with co-workers and friends, too. I want them to realize how important it is to always remember that in any relationship there are not only two people, but two sets of emotions and two schools of thought. I want them to not only know, but practice, the art of being unselfish and putting themselves in someone else's shoes. I want them to discover the sense of rightness that comes when you make someone else more important than yourself. And just as significant, I want them to recognize that in doing this, they are important, too.

If nothing else, that attitude will get them through doing the dishes and sitting through "chick flicks" when they get married.

Teenage Wit and Wisdom

The Teenager often has moments where he says something so blatantly ..... goofball, that I have to just smile and wonder if he's ever really going to grow up. On Sunday, we had this conversation:

J: Hey, Mother-of-mine?
Me: Well, I'm HIS mother, too (pointing at Bug)
J: This is true. However, I was here first and you were my mother first. So technically, I'm just sharing you with him.

But then, this Teenager will have moments where he shows just how much he's grown up while I wasn't looking. This bit? I snagged off of an English paper he wrote tonight on how he defines the American Dream:

"....it can come true if you feel like taking the time to achieve it. To achieve the American Dream that you want, you have to put your foot out and take some risks. You have to be able to expect blockades in life. To be able to succeed in life, you  first have to fail. Failing is not always a bad thing. It may not always be what you want, but failing and being able to move on is a whole lot better than succeeding and going nowhere in life."

And with those words, I know he gets it. He understands, at least on some level, what I have spent his whole life tryng to teach him. Better yet? He believes it. And he believes in himself.

Which completely makes me realize that MY definition of the American Dream? That definition that has me witnessing my children succeeding in life where I haven't? Is absolutely within my grasp.

I might do okay at this mom thing, yet.

*We are ignoring his grammar, and focusing on content. Making sure he has meaningful content is part of my job. Correcting grammar and overuse of some words? Totally his teacher's job. Do you see the brilliance of this kid? He is providing job security to different people on different levels. Well, he is if I say so. And I say so.

It's Not A Resolution, It's A Promise

I'm sure that by this point in the new year, you've already seen a bajillion resolutions floating around from people you know and blogs you read. And I'm sure you've made a few of your own. So I could sit here and list my resolutions for you, too. You know, just to share.

But see, the reality? I don't really make resolutions. I don't really keep them. I seem to have a complete lack of willpower when it comes to denying myself something I've decided I like. So this year, I'm taking a different approach. I'm not making resolutions for myself. I'm making promises to other people.

I'm promising Coach three months of telling myself "no" at least twice a week when I want something I don't have to have. Like a $2.60 cup of hot chocolate every morning on the way to work.

I'm promising Jock three months of letting him drive without hearing "I think you need to....." come out of my mouth. He really is a good driver, and I want him to know that I believe in him.

I'm promising Bug three months of having my undivided attention for at least 15 minutes each day. I want there to be not a single doubt in his mind that he is undeniably essential to my life.

I'm promising my friends, both old and new, that I will no longer just sit back and wait for someone to call and include me in their lives. Its said that to have the friend you'd like to have, you need to be that friend. So my phone will be reintroduced to its dialing feature, and my email will see more outgoing mail than it has in the past.

I'm promising my parents and brothers the same thing. To each of them. So I will be calling my dad as well as my mom; and both of my brothers will hear from me even when I'm not reminding them it's someone's birthday.

And to myself? I'm promising myself less guilt over taking time for myself every once in a while and doing something that will benefit no one else but me.

The thing about resolutions? Those are just ideas that you try to accomplish, and shrug off if you don't. But a promise? Those are binding, and you're held accountable for keeping it. I've always been a person who strives to keep any promise I've ever made, so I'm fairly certain I'll have better luck keeping a promise than following a resolution. And the bit about only promising for three months? Once I hit that point, it's a habit and regular part of my life routine.

Besides, in three months? It's going to be too hot to drink hot chocolate in Arizona, anyway.

Wonder If I'll Have Grandkids First?

I've always been one of those people who plan ahead. Fine, so not always consistently; it's more like I plan ahead on random things, and then just let other things.... happen. For example, early in my married parenting years, I would have family pictures taken of just me and the boys. No Coach. Remember hearing somewhere in here that the early years of my marriage were not always sunshine and rainbows? Well, I had those family pictures taken that way specifically so I wouldn't have to cut him out of any of them.  And yes, I know how spectacularly fatalistic that sounds.  But hey! We've been married for 17 years now, so apparently I got past thinking he wouldn't be around for future family pictures.

Except.

Except for the small fact that we haven't had a family picture taken since Bug was 6 months old. For those of you counting, that would be 11 years ago. What I need, in order to make up for this fabulous lack of memory preserving, is to have someone take a wonderously spectacular picture of my little family. Not in a portrait studio, where we look staged. We just aren't a "staged" sort of family. Combine that with the small fact that the only one of us who owns any sort of dressy-type clothing is me (and even then it's work clothes), and well..... we need someone who can do awesome outdoor shots. Of my family in jeans and t-shirts. It would be nice if this photographer was someone who could make Coach and I look like the type of people who, upon admitting that they have a teenager and oh! rarely exercise and love to eat, hear other people exclaim how Fabulous! and Young! and Wonderful! they look. But, we'd settle for a photographer who would be awesome at making us look like the best us that clothes, make-up, hair product and lighting can make us. For as little as possible expected to come out of our bank account in return for such fabulousity. (Weird....Blogger spell check seems to like that word. Does that mean it really is one? Huh.)

The problem? We know of no such photographer. Looks like this is going to fall under the heading of Just Letting Things Happen.

More Miraculous Than Snow In Arizona!

I? Am awesome. I am also just getting finished washing egg drippings off my fingers, wiping flour off my face, and will probably still be finding chocolate spatters in odd, random places in my kitchen for days. But I'm still awesome.

I have made no secret of my inability to use that big boxy thing in my kitchen that heats up both on top and behind the magic door. I have frequently poked fun at myself and my complete lack of desire to ever learn more than the rudimentary basics required to feed my husband and children.  I'm both amazed and maybe a little bit worried that my youngest son has developed such an intense interest in all things cooking related. After all, how can I possibly teach what I don't really know?

But tonight? Tonight (drum roll, please) I.... baked! Yes! Baked! Not only did I bake, but I SUCCESSFULLY baked! And it gets better! I successfully baked FROM SCRATCH. Oh yes I did.

Chocolate cookies with white chocolate chips and macadamia nuts.

And they? Are FANTASTIC. Yes; FANTASTIC.

If I didn't need all 90 of them for a cookie exchange I'm going to tomorrow night, I'd eat every last one of them before I go to bed, they're that good. They're so good that I might just be calling the cookie exchange hostess tomorrow to confirm I really do need to bring that many cookies. Maybe someone backed out at the last minute? Yes! Six more cookies for me!

Of course, we should also consider the fact that it's almost 1 o'clock in the morning and I've been sniffing chocolate fumes for the past 3 hours. I'm a little loopy.

But I'm still tempted to lick that last chocolate spatter off of my cell phone.....or maybe the one on the fridge door? But I draw the line at standing on the kitchen counter to reach that one on the ceiling.

Maybe....