Someone Needs to Publish a Puberty For Parents Handbook

Mom, we can have this conversation, but you can’t look at me. Just….look at the TV, ok?


And that was how Bug and I started the conversation about his very first kiss. Which hadn’t happened as of last night and that conversation we had where we weren’t looking at each other, but most likely has happened by the time this post is up and you’re reading it.

He informed me that he’s going to do it. He’s going to kiss his girlfriend today. He’s got a plan.

A plan?


Yes, Mom. A plan.

And really, it’s a brilliantly simple plan. After school, he’s going to take her around the building to somewhere there are no teachers (Because PDA will get me in trouble at school, Mom)….and kiss her. Simple. His brother agreed; it was a pretty good plan.

When asked if he was sure, was he really ready for this since he hadn’t been comfortable with the idea with previous girlfriends, he assured me he was. As long as he could get her around the corner where no one was at.

Because really, Mom…I just don’t want to do this with everyone watching.

So it was set. He had it all planned out. This first kiss thing should go off without a hitch. Until this morning….

Just one last question, Mom. How, exactly, do you kiss a girl?

::blink blink::

To my credit, I recovered quickly. I’m not even sure he was aware of just how big a loop he just threw me for. But all of those recovery brownie points go flying out the window in the face of what I told him. Because, really…I have no idea how to kiss a girl. And I don’t remember agonizing over how to kiss a boy, either. So I told him it would probably be a lot like kissing me, except on the lips; and that he could practice on his hand a couple of times. Oh, and don’t pucker up like a fish.

If I wasn’t so sure that once it’s started kissing becomes fairly natural, I’d really worry that I’d just completely doomed him to a kiss-less lifetime. As it is, I have to hope that it goes smoothly enough to not leave him distracted. He’s planning on doing this right before tryouts for the school baseball team today.

I’m still not sure what I was wishing him good luck on as I backed out of the driveway….the kiss, or tryouts.

Parental Fail

"Mom, I gotta tell you something, and I'm calling you because you'll freak out less than Dad. I got in an accident."

"Are you SERIOUS?"

"Yeah. I backed into someone."

"You're not kidding? You really hit someone?!?"

"Yes, I did. And it's not helping that you're YELLING AT ME!!!"

*big, deep breath.....much calmer tone of voice.... because, drat it all, he was right...I was yelling, just a bit*

"You're right. I'm sorry. Are you ok? Is anyone hurt?"

From there, he proceeded to tell me exactly what happened, and I was able to walk him through exactly what to do. No one was hurt, the owner of the other vehicle seems to be a very nice young man, and we're hoping to get this taken care of with minimal fuss. A busted taillight and a dented bumper for each vehicle. As far as accidents go, this one's a cake walk.  Heck, both...yes, that's right...BOTH of my brothers backed into MY car when they were both in high school.  Or, perhaps more correctly, they each backed OVER my car when they were in high school.

Still, I can't help but feel like I totally hosed a defining parental moment.

His first fender bender, and I didn't react the way he needed me to. I didn't believe him at first, and wasn't calm until he reminded me that he needed me to be.

Do I at least get some bonus redemption points for asking about him first, rather than the car?

Where Do We Go From Here?

I have no idea.

Sure, he's headed into the Navy later this fall. And sooner than that, he's headed into a job, God-willing. At least for the summer. (He's been warned....no more school + no more sports = no more of Mom blindly supporting his life.) But where does life really go from here? 

I have suddenly become the mother of a son I don't get to lead into the decisions he should be making. (Yes, you can feel free to translate that into "control". I won't take offense. I can't...it's true.)  Although, truth be told, he was never one for blindly following my suggestions, anyway. 

We had a discussion last night (and by discussion, I really mean that I tried talking to him while he busily texted various friends, and made what I'm sure he deemed appropriate grunting responses in reply to my words), where I admitted to him that I knew he no longer had to actually ask for permission to do things and go places. And never one to waste an opportunity to further instruct my offspring in the ways of respect and courtesy, I also reminded him that this did not mean he could stay out til all hours of the night, going God only knows where and doing God only knew what with God only knows who. Because while God knew, I wouldn't, and he still lived with me in my house and not with God in His.

All the while, I was reminding myself in my head to be verrrryyyy careful not to utter this phrase: As long as you live in my house, you will..... (fill in the blank)

Because I remembered that the last time I heard that, I moved out of my parents' house and in with the Teenager's father. And while that may have eventually turned out well....it's been a rough eighteen + years. I do NOT want that for my child.  So I will continue to be vigilant in not uttering that phrase in his hearing.

But what I'm really wondering is not so much where does HIS life go from here, but where does MINE go from here?

Before too long, it will be just me and Bug. And while most of the time he seems to enjoy my company more than his brother does, I'm not fool enough to believe that he'll willingly suffer my hovering for long. For so long, my life has been almost exclusively filled with my boys and their activities. With the Teenager no longer contributing to that, I'm feeling a little lost. I've only got Bug for another 5 years, and I discovered the hard way with the Teenager that that is a very short amount of time that goes by entirely too fast. With Coach now over the road and only home for a couple of days every few weeks, it's looking like it's time to figure out who I am underneath the Mom uniform. The only thing I know for sure that I like doing is reading, and I really do know that it would not be a good idea for me to retreat entirely into a world of books. I'm a little daunted by the prospect of finding new aspects of myself.

And if I'm being honest.... I'm a lot freaked out, too. 

Its All Part Of The Adoption Package

Here's the way I see it. If, as a friend of my son, you are going to call me "Mom"...well then, you are giving me all rights and privileges associated with that title.  Pride in your accomplishments. Disappointment in your poor choices. And when told that one of your classmates is suddenly an expectant parent, questions like this:

Seriously. How hard is it to use a condom every time? Tell me you use one, Every.Time.

And also, if you're calling me Mom, you really should be prepared for me to continue on with that lesson in responsibility for at least another ten minutes. And you should expect me to reference things like genital warts and herpes, and you should expect to hear statements  like "This is your penis. This is your penis with warts."  And you really, really, REALLY should expect me to say "Wear a condom EVERY SINGLE TIME!" a minimum of 2,358,903,884,954 times.

Because if you're old enough to be having sex, then you're old enough to be having sex responsibly.  And if embarrassing conversations with me about condom use is what it takes for you to remember it?  Well, you asked for it when you gave me pseudo-parental rights by calling me Mom.

Consider it my parental prerogative. So don't act surprised when you come home from college on break in a few months, run into me at the local Wal-Mart, and I ask you again if you're wearing a condom EVERY TIME.


Just know that you are loved enough for me to continue drilling that into your hormone-riddled brain for as long as you are a part of my son's life. And then some. Because parental love, even the love from pseudo-parents like myself, doesn't stop just because you've graduated from high school.

Spread the Word to End the Word

In my little world, this blog is really just a place I run to when I want to preserve some random memory of my boys, or put something down in writing that maybe they can look back on when they're grown and realize that Mom had some good ideas.  In my little world, my boys not only get along with each other, but they get along with the rest of the world.

Sadly, the rest of the world doesn't live in MY little world.

In the rest of the world, my boys face things like prejudice and intolerance, ignorance and selfishness. When it's directed at them, my boys can usually stand up for themselves, or for each other, against that ugliness. But when faced with ugliness geared towards others in the world who are too trusting and deep-down-to-the-soul innocent to stand up for themselves?  I'm hoping I've raised my boys to stand up for them, too.

My Bug, he's smart as a whip. But most people wouldn't know that if all they did was take a quick look at one brief snapshot of his life. If someone caught him off-guard in the middle of a massive meltdown caused simply by being too young and inexperienced to adequately cope with being Bipolar?  A meltdown moment when all he is able to hold himself together enough to do is cry, pull his hair and try to curl into a ball small enough to be overlooked?  What do you suppose would be said about him then? What names do you imagine people who didn't know any better would call him?

And that's just MY son. My son, who 98% of the time is fully able to communicate clearly and concisely with the general population. But for those who can't?  Well, that's when the rest of us need to stand up, pull up our big-girl pants, and do it for them. We need to strongly, clearly and unflinchingly tell the world to do what's right.

We teach our children to "use their words" when they're frustrated, angry or impatient. But do you stop to make sure you're teaching them the RIGHT words?

Today, I'm asking a favor of anyone who reads this. Take a minute to go to www.r-word.org.  Take the pledge. And then HONOR and LIVE that pledge.

Because a world full of people who use the right words? Who stand up for those who otherwise can't?  Make it easier to let my boys leave MY world and head out into the REAL world. And know that they won't be alone in it.

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.

Our Butterfly Effect

It occurs to me that I do more thinking about life, and how choices and actions affect not just your own but those around you as my children get older.

I was sitting in the stands this weekend, talking to the Teenager’s best friend, Junior. We were watching Jock compete in a decathlon. (Side note: holy heck that is a grueling competition! The athletes were all jelly by the time things were done!) As Junior and I sat there, I could see that something was bothering him. He’s normally a pretty cheerful kid when he’s around us, but this time something was off. Being the nosy mom that I am, I asked.

Wanna know something pretty cool? He actually told me.

Anyway, turns out that Junior was fighting with his parents. And stressing over where his life is headed, what direction it should go, and the fact that he just doesn’t know WHAT he wants to do with it. He wants to make a difference, but he just doesn’t see how he ever can or will. Junior’s told me before how my Teenager has been a good influence on him, getting him to stop doing self-destructive things just by watching the choices Jock was making in his own life. Being the clever meddler that I am, I shamelessly used my boy as an example of how you can make a difference without being the center of the World’s attention.

I told him that although the Teenager might not have the most book smarts, he pushes himself to do the best he can do so that he can play sports. He has a goal in mind for his life, and knows there are certain things he has to do to get there. He is determined, he is focused, and he is stubborn. And then I asked Junior what he thought Bug thought of his big brother. He idolizes him, he told me. Wants to be just like him.

Now, take Bug’s book smarts and creativity, combined with Jock’s determination, focus and stubbornness. Do you see the possibilities for Bug? What if Bug goes on in life to invent something that changes the course of someone’s life? Do you realize that would be because he was trying to follow his brother’s example of making the right life choices? Junior, everyone – EVERYONE – touches someone else’s life. Everyone creates a ripple effect. Your choice is simply whether or not you want your ripples to be positive or negative.

Junior and I talked for just a bit longer, and I told him that when we dropped him off at his house after the meet he needed to go and make things right with his mother. Moms put up with a lot of crap from most of the world; we shouldn’t have to put up with it at home. He told Jock later that I had really gotten to him, and that the first thing he did when he walked in the door was to apologize to his mom and tell her he loved her.

I’ve talked before about my conviction that everyone influences people. I am so proud of my boys for the positive ripples they create on a daily basis.

It's Not Just Texting While Driving That's A Bad Idea

When I was in high school, the only way to talk to my friends during the day was to *gasp* actually TALK to them between classes or at lunch. Or, heaven forbid, after school. If I needed to talk to anyone I didn't go to school with, I had to use the payphone in the lobby.

The day I found out I got a fairly large role in the school play and wanted to call my parents? I used the payphone. At lunch.

If I wanted to talk to my boyfriend, who went to a different school, during the day? He called a specific payphone in our school lobby from a payphone in his school's lobby. At lunch.

When I got home from school, I actually called my mother at work. And once I was driving? I had to use the actual phone wherever I ended up to....and I know this will sound really strange.... call home and report in.

So I'm left wondering why it is so amazingly impossible for my household to contemplate just how we would function if we decided to punish Jock for a cell phone infraction by actually taking away his phone? This teenager, who generally is the kind of kid who does what he's supposed to and for the most part doesn't get in trouble? This kid that all of his teachers like? This kid got in trouble at school for cell phone usage in class. Twice. In a 7-day period. Which has resulted in a total of three days of in-school suspension.

My first thought was Take away the phone for a few days. That'll teach him. And immediately on the heels of that thought was Wait....I need to be able to reach him after track practice, and when he goes somewhere. And about that "going somewhere" thing....he'll need that phone in case of an emergency.

Umm..... at what point did disciplining my child become less about helping him learn a lesson and more about not inconviencing myself? After much discussion, Coach and I decided on a weekend of forced father-son bonding time by enlisting Jock to help clean out the garage. You know, the kind of helping where Coach directed and Jock did the work. And the rule was, he had to do it without grumbling.

Which, upon reflection, might actually have been more difficult for him than needing to use a payphone in the lobby at the school. Do they even still have payphones in high school lobbies these days?

I'm going to have to look into that in case he decides he needs to text during class again.

I'm Not Sure What I Would Have Done With The Husband I Already Have Anyway

Recently, in a conversation with a friend of mine, I mentioned that neither of my boys had ever said that they wanted to grow up and marry me when they were little. (And when I went home and related that conversation to my boys, both of them looked at me and said "Um, eww, Mom. That's wrong. Just wrong.")  I thought about that for quite a while, actually, as I've heard more than one mother of boys say that their son, when he was little, wanted to grow up and marry his mama. So what was different in my household? Why didn't my boys want to marry me?

Which led me to thinking about the relationships I've got with my boys. Pretty darn good relationships, actually. We don't fight all the time, I like them more often than I don't, I can trust them despite the hormones to do what they're supposed to do. All good things. On the flip side, they seem to like me more often than they don't and they can trust me to uphold my end of all bargains as well.  And none of us avoid one another.

My Friday evening was spent with the Teenager, shopping for track shoes. (Side note: we totally scored! Between coupons, sale prices and gift cards, we walked out of there with a pair of running shoes and a pair of track cleats for just a little over the regular price of one pair of running shoes!) Despite feeling so yucky and wanting nothing more than to curl up in a blanket on the sofa and let people take care of me, I let myself be talked into agreeing that we just couldn't wait, and had to go right then. At eight o'clock at night. When apparently there was only one shoe salesman scheduled to work and every parent of a 6-year old soccer player with at least three younger siblings in the tri-city area also felt they had to go shoe shopping and couldn't wait any longer. And I did this because I love my son, and he asked. He asked.

Turns out, that asking? Proves a few things.

On the drive home, we talked about a variety of things. Including his circle of close friends. One friend in particular, as this friend was potentially facing a move because his new step-father had just recently experienced a job change. Jock very casually mentioned that it wasn't really going to affect his friend; he'd just live with another friend like he mostly has all through high school so far.

Me: You mean, because it will be his senior year?
J: No, I mean he hasn't really lived at home anyway. He and his mom can barely stand each other. He only talks to her when he has to. He's basically lived at JR's* for the last two or three years, anyway.
Me: Huh. I wouldn't have thought that, since she's at all of his football games.
J: Well, she's his mom. They don't have to be getting along for her to want to come watch him play. (Thereby proving to me that football is held completely separate from any other part of teenage boy-hood)
Me: Ohh-kay. Still sucks that they're not close. I'm glad that we are. *pause* Wait. Do YOU think we are????
J: Well, duh. Of course we are. Think about it, Mom. I talk to you. I even go shopping with you.

Well then. How could I ever question that? Of course we're close. The shopping proves it. Even if he didn't want to marry me when he was five.

There Really Should Be A Guidebook

There's a shockingly large amount of information that is never given to you as a parent. Things you just have to discover on your own, and then just....wing it. Turns out that I? Haven't quite figured out yet if I'm any good at winging it. It might be helpful if I figured that out soon, as I'm almost out of time with the teenager; and would like to confidently make some decisions with Bug.

For example, no one ever tells you how to handle your child dating. They (I'm still wondering just who the heck "they" are, and just how "they" got their credentials...) tell you allllll about puberty, and it's effects on your child's physical, mental and emotional states. But no one ever tells you just how YOU are supposed to cope with those effects. It's one thing to know your son has a girlfriend. It's quite another when he's dating.

Yes, I know that sounds strange and backwards. Try to stay with me, here.

When your teenage son has a girlfriend, you have the comfort of knowing that he's convinced himself that he cares for someone. There is a strange sort of mellowness you feel as a mother knowing that he's emotionally invested in someone. This way, if something of a physical nature should happen between them, at least they care about each other. Right?

But when your teenage son is dating, then you start to worry about whether or not you've somehow let loose into the world some testosterone driven, cleavage obsessed, one track minded man-whore in the making. And it doesn't matter how respectful and well mannered your son is normally. You just know, deep in your heart where all mama insecurities reside, that it could happen. And so naturally, you freak the heck out every time he says Mom, can I borrow the car tonight? I have a date.

You also find yourself saying things and asking questions that you NEVER expected to hear come out of your mouth. Things like Sweetheart, I think dating Mouse first this time around is a good idea. But until you both have been committed to each other for a while, like---a few month's worth of a while, just don't sleep with her. Unless it's too late for that request. It's not too late, right? You would tell me if it was, right?

All I can say is Thank GOD he looked me straight in the eye and told me it wasn't too late, and agreed that yes, he WOULD tell me. Because I have not quite figured out how I'm going to calmly accept when that changes. Not the telling me part. I'm fairly confident that he'll always tell me when I ask. It's the not too late part I'm freaking out about.

Some things? You just can't wing without a little preparation.

I Really Need to Channel Emeril. Or Paula Dean. Or Someone.....

So I've got this friend that is just one of the most awesome people I know. She's a single mom of four beautiful and amazing boys, and despite the fact that she is younger than me and her kids are younger than mine....I want to be as wonderful a mother as she is. I want to be just like her when I grow up! She's just that fantastic.

So it was absolutely no surprise that, upon finding myself in something of a dilemma this evening, she was the first person I thought to call.

Me: Hey! Okay... so you're the Queen of All Things Mom, and if anyone can help me here, you can. 
Her:  Ummm.... sure. Why not?
Me:  Okay. It's almost 7pm, I won't be home until about 7:30, and I have to make dinner. I've got chicken in the sink, sitting in cold water, and it's ready to cook. The problem is that all I know how to do with it is bake it. And that takes 35-45 minutes. If I want anyone to get to bed, that's just not gonna work. So... what can I do to cook the stupid chicken faster? 
Her:  Where's your husband?
Me:  Sick. And I don't want his germs. 
Her: Huh. Okay then.... the teenager?
Me: Oh no. We actually want a chance to EAT this chicken. And you can shush. I know I haven't taught him to actually cook with real meat products. And yes, I admit, there is some serious suckage to my parenting skills. Just move on and help me with the stupid chicken! 
Her: Hon, it would help if you could at least tell me what you have in your pantry.

So, being MacGuyver, based on what I tell her is currently in my less than stellar larder, she gives me a recipe that actually sounds easy and yummy. And would only take 25 minutes or so. Bonus!  And so I'll love her forever and ever and ever.

Or maybe just a couple of "evers"..... See, at the end of that conversation, she drops this one on me:

You DO realize that is actually a recipe YOU gave ME a few years ago, right? 

So apparently I actually have it in me to cook on the fly. Who knew?

The One In Which I'm A Puddle Of Goo

When they're little, your children believe the sun rises and sets on mom's opinion. A good one will have them smiling for hours; a bad one will leave them in tears. As your children grow, they are so busy living and learning life that you become super busy just trying to stay a part of their life. You don't realize that they're asking for your opinion less and less. Until they ask for it again.

The teenager walked into the room recently, sat (read: plopped) down next to me on the sofa, laid his head on my shoulder and asked if I could take him to a very specific store that day. There was a necklace he wanted very much to buy, and Mom... it's only about $3!  After Dad got done with the standard Dude, we aren't here just to bankroll your life spiel, my son whispered just low enough for me to hear him It's for Mouse. (Sidenote: Mouse is his new girlfriend. Apparently, when she's surprised, she squeaks like a mouse. His story, his permission to call her that here.)  So, naturally. I caved and we went shopping.

He explained that he had a very specific necklace in mind, and he thought it was on sale. Once we got into the store, however, he couldn't fnd it. And it was pointed out to him by me that the sale sign actually read Buy One, Get One 50% Off!.  At which point he gave me his patented dimple-laden grin that gets him out of almost anything with a shrug of his shoulders, and started looking at other items of jewelry.

Mom, what do you think of this one?   So I asked him to really think about how well he knew her.  Does she like "busy" necklaces like that, with so many pendants on them?

How 'bout this one? 
Well, how would she feel about having something that tight on her neck?

The next one he just held up for me to see.
Um... I think it might be too long. It would hang to her belly button, and she doesn't strike me as a girl who enjoys jewelry like that.

At one point, when he asked me what I thought of one, I asked HIM what HE thought. He looked at me and said That's why I asked YOU. I want YOUR opinion.  After I managed to reassemble myself into a mom again from the puddle of gooey-ness that statement had turned me into, we continued looking and talking about the kind of jewelry Mouse wears. And we ended up looking at a very nice, understated, not busy at all fabric bracelet with a silver heart on it. I mentioned that I would love it, and he said that he thought she'd like it, too. That's what we walked out of the store with.

My boy's first gift to his new girlfirend is going to be something I helped him pick out.  And he's giving it to her in a little gift box that I managed to successfully make pretty and crafty over the weekend.

Who knew how important it would make me feel to be included again in the major highlights of his life?

Simple Choices

Bug asked me a simple question tonight. And taken at face value, if you weren't looking to dig deeper, it had a simple answer. Of course, my kid doesn't do simple. Never has. Probably never will. That's okay, because apparently I don't do simple, either.

Bug asked me what nationalities we were made up of. (Well, actually, what he asked was a bit less grown up sounding, and took some additional questions from me to finally figure out what he meant, but it turned out that was what he meant.) Simple question. The simple answer was that I was Irish, German and Cherokee Indian; while dad was Indian, Hispanic and something Nordic. So he starts asking which grandparent contributed which nationality. This was where it got.... well, less simple.

My parents divorced when I was younger, and my mom remarried when I was eight. He's an amazingly awesome man, as I've mentioned here before. He is also the only grandfather, on my side, that my boys have ever known. See, my biological father disowned me right before I got married. It's a somewhat long and involved story, so suffice it to say that he's just a very selfish and spoiled man who reacted the way he did because something was not going to go the way he wanted it to. I'm positive that if he had any idea at all of how my life would have gone on to play out, he probably still would have done the same thing. And honestly? I've come to terms with the fact that he has never met the amazing son-in-law that he has, and has never gotten to experience the joys and wonders that would have come along with being a grandparent to my incredible boys. And that? Is completely his loss, and not mine. My boys know that my dad isn't their biological grandfather, and that there is another man out there that we have to consider when discussing medical history with the doctor. They also know that he CHOSE to walk out of my life, and not even attempt to walk into theirs. They have NEVER blamed that choice on me. In fact, they have often told me that they think he's totally missing out on a great family by ignoring ours.

Anyway, Bug asked how much of the Indian in me came from Grandpa. And then he interrupted himself to remind me that Oh yeah.... he's not the guy you'd get anything from. Its that OTHER guy who doesn't like you.

Ouch.

I pointed out that I didn't think it was that he didn't like me. After all, I was only 19 when he decided to stop talking to me. I told Bug that I think its just that he's so caught up in his own world that there's just not room enough in it for me; and reminded him that the grandpa he knows is a pretty awesome guy who definitely has had time for me. Bug looked at me, perplexed. You were only 19, Mom? But that's been..... like, YEARS.

I know, I replied. And then told him we'd talk about it more when it wasn't bedtime and he wasn't trying to avoid sleep.

The thing is, I think I was actually telling Bug the truth. It's not that my biological father doesn't like me. He doesn't even know me. He chose not to be an active father while I was growing up; and he chose again to simply walk away from me when it looked like I had. And that, as selfish a reason as he had for making that choice, was one of the best choices he could have made. In making that choice, he cleared the path for my sons to have a phenomenal grandfather. And it made me a stronger person, which makes me a stronger mother.

Choices. Everything comes down to the choices you make in life. And those choices don't just affect YOUR life, they affect the lives of everyone in your life. His choice helped to give my sons the mother they have today. His choice helped me to choose to stay with their father when I could have chosen to walk away. His choice will help teach my children the importance of making the right choices in their own lives, because every choice can affect people you don't even know yet.

Not a bad lesson to learn.

Support With No Reservations

Eight years ago tomorrow, my children's futures changed in ways that I still cannot even begin to imagine. Eight years ago, my oldest son was only 8 years old. Fully half of his life has been spent under a cloud of uncertainty regarding how life will be when he's grown. Eight years ago, he wasn't thinking beyond who to play with at recess, or where to sit at lunch. Today, he's spending more time thinking about just where his future will take him, and what direction he should take when he finally reaches that fork in the road that happens when you graduate from high school. He'll reach that fork, that moment when he has to make a choice on his destination, in two short--very short--years.

More and more often, Jock has been leaning towards a destination that travels right through some time spent in military service. The Marine Corps, specifically. Does he still want to play football? Absolutely. Does he still want to go to college? Definitely. Does he still want to choose SWAT police officer as his lifetime career? Beyond a doubt. Has he decided that the route through the Marine Corps is the best one to take him there? It is certainly beginning to look that way. He tells me that the Marines will pay for college. I know that. He tells me that he'll still be able to play football while he's enlisted. I'm not sure of the details, but I'm sure he'll figure something out on that score. He tells me that the training he'll get while in the Marines will prove invaluable when he enrolls in the Police Academy and takes the further steps of becoming a SWAT officer. I can't argue that point.

Am I 100%, with no reservations, comfortable with this particular life path that he could choose? That is a loaded question.

I have always, ALWAYS, supported my children in their decisions. Not only supported them, but actively encouraged them to make their own decisions based on information they, themselves, have gathered. I also have always, ALWAYS, been an active supporter of our military forces. Both my brothers have served in the military; one in the Army, one in the Navy. My dad was a Marine. Heck, when I was Jock's age, I was determined to join the Air Force.

Of course, when I was Jock's age the world wasn't in quite the same shape it is today.

I'm surprised, actually, at the difference it makes that he's my son. My baby. My little boy. My heart. And yet, I'm not surprised. After all, if I could keep this kid surrounded by nothing by peace and harmony, without experiencing a broken heart or any disappointment, I'd certainly try. So why should it be surprising to want to protect him as long as I could, from as much as I could? Despite knowing that I simply can't.

Do I feel in my heart that he believes in HIS heart that the decisions he makes are the best ones he could make? Do I believe in his abiility to think through all aspects of any situation he faces? Do I trust that I have raised him to think clearly, look thoroughly into and beyond any momentary glory?

Yes, I do.

And so I have to say that while I may never be comfortable with his decisions to immerse himself in places and careers that leave him vulnerable to hurts, heartache, disappointment and danger; I can 100%, without reservations, support, encourage, believe in and trust him.

Hosted by Cecily and MamaGeek

A Purpose

I'm sure we've all, at least once since the invention of electronic mail, received the email that talks about how people come into our lives for a reason, a season or a lifetime. Right? I mean, I can't be the only one who's seen that one. And as annoying as it may be sometimes to get that email repeatedly, I really am one of those people that believe there is a purpose for each of us in someone's lives.

I have a friend who is a home-care provider for an elderly disabled gentleman. For the last several days, I've been helping her out so that she was able to go away for a few days with her family on a well-deserved camping trip. Pretty low-key work, just taking care of his meals and bathing, mostly. Really, not much different than a toddler, just on a larger scale. And on the surface, sure, the similarities are all there. But it's the differences that have made such an impact on me.

With a toddler, you're shaping the future. With this gentleman, I get to experience a living piece of history. He was born and raised a devout Catholic in Germany, at a time when to revere anyone other than Hitler, even Jesus, was risking being sent to a concentration camp. The stories this man can tell are absolutely amazing, and I have spent several hours just listening to him. He fascinates me.

A toddler will believe anything you tell them, and they have no concept of faith or religion unless they are parroting something their parents have said. This man, though, humbles me with the depth of his faith and belief in the Lord. Listening to him sing along with the familiar hymns and chants, and pray along with the congregation, as he watched Mass this morning on TV was incredibly moving. We were having a conversation the other day (ok, really? He was talking and I was avidly listening), and he was telling me how a priest he knew when he was a child had explained Heaven and Hell to him and his classmates.

Have you ever felt homesick? The kind of homesick that can overwhelm you with sadness? That is how your soul feels when it is separated from it's eternal home in Heaven with it's Heavenly Father. While your soul resides in your body, even though it is homesick, it has something to do. A purpose. But after you die, your soul wants to go home. If it is not allowed to do so, it is consumed by an overwhelming homesickness. It keeps your soul in such misery. This? Is Hell.

This conversation, and that analogy, have been on my mind every day since then. I believe there are many levels, or layers, to our purpose on Earth. I think a part of this man's purpose was to help me realize some truths about myself. And I can feel it, and know that now I can put a name to this restlessness I feel sometimes. My soul is homesick, but I have not yet realized my full purpose here.

So today, which isn't any special day on any religious calendar; nor is it any sort of odd recognition day that many calendars have spawned; today? I just want to let each of you know how grateful I am that you continually play a part in keeping the homesickness from invading my soul, and for being part of my purpose.

What Are My Options, Really?

Its no secret that my life tends to revolve around my kids. I'm pretty sure I've mentioned that a time or two, right? I try, I really do, to teach my boys what's important in life, and how to distinguish between whats important and what is just filler. I try every day to ensure my kids know how truly, truly important they are in my life, and that they are my biggest priorities. I'm not sure I always accomplish that, but I know that I try.

I've always, ALWAYS believed that spending time with my boys comes first. It comes before doing the dishes, it comes before vacuuming the dog hair, and it comes before anything else. I never want my kids to struggle to remember things we did together, or good times we had. I don't want them to be writing my eulogy, saying "Well, we might not have gone on picnics, had amazing conversations about the smallest of things, or played hooky one day together just for the fun of it; but we always had clean spoons in the drawer."

A good friend of mine said something to me today that keeps playing over and over in my head. It's perfect, really. It's something that just says everything I try to remember every day of my parenting life.

Was today the best day of my life? If not, then I've failed.

It's that simple, and that complex. I am trying to make today the best day of my life, and of my boys' lives. If I step out my front door tomorrow morning and get hit by a bus, will today have been the best day I could have made it for them? Will I be able to leave them, sure in the knowledge that they will have had a lifetime of "best days" to look back on? Because if all they can remember about me is that I do the dishes every day, or that I'm a tyrant about the dog hair, then I've failed. I would have failed them.

Failure is not an option, here.

What Are They Thinking?

Have you ever wondered what your kids thought about you? I mean, REALLY thought about you?

I've been giving a lot of thought lately to how my kids see me, and just what they think of what they see. I've tried to be honest with myself on this, and not to just believe that they are thinking what I'd like them to think. Surprisingly, this has not been as easy as you would think. Apparently, I think rather highly of myself.

But as this exercise was in trying to really know what my kids think of me, I tried again. This time, though, it occurred to me that maybe I should just ASK my kids. I know, brilliant, right? However, this too has proven a tad more difficult that I had hoped. It seems I missed the memo that went out to every parent on the planet that said that teenagers? They don't like to make free with the information. Who knew?

Ten year olds on the other hand, are a bit more expressive. Bug has always been an openly affectionate kid, for which I am eternally grateful. He will hug me every time he walks into a room, tell me he loves me when he calls from a friend's house, and has been known to just randomly tell me what an awesome mom I am. Seriously, and for no bigger reason than that I cook dinner (even though they all openly confess that my cooking is not really their favorite thing about me) and do his laundry. But perhaps one of my favorite recent memories to think on when I think of Bug and what he thinks of me is something he said one night while he was mostly asleep.

He had been in bed for about 30 minutes, and was in that place between full sleep and somewhat awake. I had to run up to the baseball fields and shut off the lights, and peeked in on him. He stirred just enough to ask where I was going, and after I told him he said to me:

Well, be careful. I couldn't live without you if something happened to you.

I may not be a stellar housekeeper, only doing the dishes when we've run out of plates or utensils and vacuuming only when we're expecting company. I may not be a master chef, with the most variety in my kitchen coming in their choice of chocolate chip or cinnamon frozen waffles. I am useless when it comes to helping them with their math, can't be used as an opposing lineman for football practice and I really have no arm to speak of to use to throw a baseball. But....

I laugh a lot with them. I tell them daily how much I believe in them and how proud of them I am. I hug them every morning when they wake up, every night when they go to bed, and as many times in between as I can manage to grab them. I make their favorite dinner when their hearts hurt, and again when they're celebrating. When they're feeling that life is just not fair or going their way, I take them for ice cream--because sometimes you just need comfort food. Even if you're a 15 year old boy. And sometimes just because you're a 15 year old boy.

So the more I think about it, the more I know what I mean to them. I'm necessary. Necessary to their happiness and necessary to their well-being. I'm just plain necessary to them, like they are necessary to me.

And I don't think that's a bad thing, really.

Where Were You?

Have you ever been a part of something historical? Ever just been in the right place at the right time, and been able to claim you were a part of history?

Where were you when Elvis died? When Kennedy was assassinated? When women won the right to vote? When Coca-Cola brought back their original, classic recipe?

The last several decades have been some of the most active eras in history, creating moments almost before we have a chance to live them. Which is why I don't feel as old as I probably could have in other circumstances considering the semester project Jock has for his World History class.

The Gulf War.

How is this long enough ago to be considered fair game for a history class? It's only been 18 years. Yeah, that long. I know, it shocked me, too. After all, I lived that. (Well, I wasn't military, so perhaps "living it" has a different connotation for me.)

It was my senior year. I had spent a lot of time in high school performing the National Anthem at various games for the school, so this particular night shouldn't have been any different. Except it was.

I walked to the middle of the gym, standing on the basketball court. I held my microphone in a hand that shook slightly. The bleachers were silent. The players for both teams standing respectfully still. Every hat was off, and every hand was placed on every heart. The flag was lowered from the ceiling, slowly. All eyes were on that flag. And I sang. By myself, in a gymnasium full of my peers and their families. No music, no other voices. And I had never sounded less nervous, or more confident, at any performance before. Or any since, I think.

The words were heard clearly. The notes were as pure as they had originally been written. There was no flair added to that song. It was just the National Anthem, as it was intended to be sung. Pure. Sweet. Powerful.

And when the last note faded away, there was not a single dry eye in the gym.

You see, ten minutes before that performance; ten minutes before a gymnasium full of teenagers were about to play a simple game; ten minutes before that flag was lowered.....

War had been declared. And we would forever look at the world a little differently.

Now my son has a chance to study this "political action" for himself. This "conflict". Operation Desert Storm. And I'm in a unique position to help him understand this from a perspective not written of in textbooks, or on Wikipedia.

I wonder, though. With this generation able to learn about some of these things from actual people, people who actually experienced life at that time, will they be able to understand better what happened? Will they be able learn more from decisions made by people still living than they would be able to learn just from a textbook filled with people long gone? Will they perhaps appreciate their parents and grandparents a little bit more?

Will they look at the world just a little differently, too?

Random Bits From The Locker Room

Every night at bedtime, Bug and I have a ritual. I get him all tucked into bed, lay down next to him, and sing to him while I rub his back. Despite the fact that he's 10 1/2 years old, this is a hugely important ritual to him every night. He sleeps better when we don't skip it.

But last night, I went to bed before everyone else did. Bug came in to say goodnight, and laid down next to me. I asked him if maybe he'd want to sing to me? And in his little voice, he sang

You are my sunshine, my only sunshine. You make me happy, when skies are gray. You'll never know, Mom, how much I love you. Please don't take my sunshine away.

He gave me a kiss, an I love you!, and wandered out.

I really love that kid.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

There are some things I've wondered about lately:

How bad does a headache have to get before you just give in and admit it's kicking your butt?

Is it possible to survive on beef ramen alone?

When all you want is to be invisible, and left to your own devices, why is it that THAT is the exact moment in your life when there is no escaping anyone or anything?

Why can't there be any nutritional value in popcorn? Especially popcorn slathered with movie theater butter?

When is someone going to show up on my doorstep with gooey, warm chocolate chip cookies and french vanilla ice cream? Or cold cookies and ice cream? Or even just one or the other?

Or combine them, and make it chocolate chip ice cream?