On this day, 1999

My middle child, Jack, is twelve today.  12!  Hard to believe.

From the moment he came into this world, very late (or early, as it were) on a Saturday, I had a feeling he'd be a whirlwind. I was 37 weeks along when I felt a contraction while getting ready for bed.  It was about 11:15 at night.  Back labor is not pretty.  By 2am, I was 8 centimeters and barely had time for that sweet, sweet epidural.  He was born just 27 minutes later. Fast and furious, he didn't waste his time being born.  The only thing he slowed down for was sleep.  From just 3 weeks old, he was sleeping through the night.  He played hard, and crashed hard.  That was a blessing. To this day, he never has a problem falling asleep.

He was also born with a confidence, a self-assuredness that continues to surprise me.  We always have a "Jack story" to tell at holidays and get-togethers.

Like the time when Jack was two, and heard me on the phone.  I was in the middle of a conversation, saying "Can you believe that son of a ..." I stopped short of saying a bad word when I saw him toddle into the room.  He stopped, looked up at me, and said "bitch, mama.  Son of a bitch."  And continued on his way.

Or the time when he was five.  His older brother was at his friend Nick's house.  Nick's mom and I were making plans to all meet up for dinner.  It was a well known fact that Jack had a crush on his mom (Kris).  So when our phone rang, and her name came up on the caller ID, I handed the phone to Jack.  He said, "Hi Krissy!"  "Hi Jack!" she said, "Hey, buddy, I'm gonna get Nick and Connor and we're all gonna meet down at Wings for dinner, okay?"
Jack responded, "Okay, but why don't you leave that husband of yours at home."

Or the time when he was six, and I took him to get a haircut.  The hairdresser was young and pretty.  Jack was talking her ear off.  "We're just about done," she said to him.  "Okay," he answered.  "What time do you get off work?"  She smiled, "eight o'clock.  Why?"
"Do you like Sponge Bob?" Jack asked her.  "Sure!" she played along.
"Well, you wanna come over and watch some Sponge Bob with me?"

Or when he was in the third grade, and one of the girls in his class was getting picked on at recess.  She was surrounded by a group of girls, frightened.  Jack stepped in, took her hand, told those girls to deal with him next time, and walked her out of there.  When he got home from school, I asked how his day had been.  "Fine." was all he said.

Later, I got two calls.  The first was from the Principal telling me that Jack was called in to tell his side of the story.  She told me what a fine young man I was raising.  The second call came from the girl's father. He called to thank me for raising a brave, young gentleman.  He was grateful that Jack had been there that day.  Jack thought nothing of it.  He saw someone getting picked on, and he stepped in to help out.

Jack has a compassion for others who can't stand up for themselves.  He is a protector by nature and won't accept anyone making fun of kids who are different, and won't let their differences stop him from sitting with them at lunch, or helping them with school work.

There are certain people who just light up a room.  That's Jack.  He has a way of making everyone around him feel special.  His energy, confidence, charisma and charm are unmatched.

Happy Birthday Jack.  You are so special.  I have no doubt that you are going to make something very big of yourself.  We butt heads, we argue, I get thoroughly exhausted - mentally and physically.  And some days are just a pure challenge, I'll give you that.  But you are the child of my heart.  

When I was growing up, my mom used to say to me, "Just you wait!  You're going to grow up and have a child just like you!"  Back then, I just rolled my eyes.  Now I know exactly what she meant.  That's my Jack.  Creative, passionate, energetic, and sometimes, just not fully understood.

What a huge responsibility I have ahead of me - to mold you into the very best of all that you are.  I am so lucky to be the one who gets the pleasure of watching you grow into the amazingly talented, confident, compassionate man I know you will become.  And then, maybe, helping you get through those years of raising one of your own...; )

Er, Sorry...Or, Could I Feel Any Smaller?

I have a rule in our home. Okay, there are several. But the one I'm referring to is the "No Locked Doors" Rule (One caveat: bathroom doors). We respect each other's privacy by knocking first, so there is no reason to lock your bedroom door (One caveat: my door).

But I digress...

It was a typical Monday night (other than being the last day of my 38th year). One child playing with her legos, one sprawled across the couch, and one (middle) child who had a friend over. I ran down to the Office/Laundry Room/PS3 Room to let the boys know their dinner was ready. I grabbed the handle and turned...locked. "Jack?!" I called, "open this door."

Scuffling...

The friend opened the door to my best stern mom face. "We have a rule in this house," I said to him as he slinked back to his chair in front of the tv, "No locked doors."

"Okay."

I let it go - I don't believe in scolding/lecturing/beating (ha) kids in front of their friends.

After his friend went home, I found Jack in front of the PS3. I sat down next to him. "Jack?" "I know mom," he said, "I'm sorry."

I was feeling very in control. Pleased with my ability to stay in charge and on top of the House Rules I had imposed. "What were you doing in here that you needed to lock the door?"

"Mom..." Jack sneaked a peak at me out of the corner of his eye before turning back to the TV to shoot another bad guy.

"Jack...?"

"Do I have to tell you?"

I was smug. "I'd like to know, yes."

He reached behind his chair and pulled out a stack of little square sheets of paper.

"It's your birthday present."

Each square was a coupon; for cutting the lawn, babysitting his sister, folding the laundry, washing the car. A free hug.

Ugh. My turn to apologize. For thinking...what? That they were building a weapon of mass destruction? Leafing through a magazine found on the sidewalk? Sometimes my imagination gets the best of me. Better to be on my toes, I guess. I'm not naive. Sure, I turned 39 last Tuesday, but I remember quite clearly the trouble I caused (and got away with) back in the day.

This year for my birthday, Jack gave me two gifts. One being the stack of coupons (how great is that!?), the other being a healthy dose of humility.

Serenity...Just $13.99

Sometimes it's just not worth the battle.

My middle child (you remember him?  Willful, loving, Jack) hurt his elbow during goalie training last night.  They were practicing diving for the soccer ball (it's your third hand, you love the ball!) and he landed on it, his elbow slamming into hard ground.  Nothing broken (I'm not a doctor, but we've had 5 in our house - none Jack's), no heinous swelling or bruising.  But Jack was hurting last night.  I coaxed him into a warm bath, got him settled on the couch with a fluffy pillow, soft blanket and tv and he fell right to sleep.  This morning he was a hornet's nest.  

Couldn't move his arm (he said), couldn't do anything, refused to go to summer camp because he was afraid to take the field trip to the in-link skating rink.  He was bored, restless, and then got it in his head that he needed to have his arm in a sling. 

 

I tried telling him I don't have a sling.  I tried telling him I was working (from home today, mind you) and he needed to relax (read: be quiet!) and keep ice on it.  

Nothing worked.  Once he got the idea of a sling into his head, nothing else was going to do.  "Mom, pulleeeese!" he whined, "it hurts!"  Dragging out the words as though stretching the syllables would impress upon me his dire circumstances.  It simply stretched that nerve ending to near breaking.  You know the one...the LAST SENSITIVE NERVE?  Yep.  That one.

I heard about it from 8am this morning through 1pm when I had to run out for a doctor's appointment.  Then I read about it via text.  Gosh, I do love technology. 

On the way home, it hit me.  I had spent the past 5+ hours listening to this whining, complaining misery.  And suddenly an infomercial began playing in my head:  

Are you in need of peace?  Do you need a few moments of serenity?  How long have you had to put up with the whining?  Well, folks, have we got just the thing for you!

Peace!  Serenity! A temporarily content 11 year-old boy!  That's right!  All this can be yours for the low, low price of $13.99.  Just one payment of $13.99 can buy you a few moments of whinelessness (is that even a word? It is now...)!  All you have to do is stop at Walgreens on your way home and purchase that cotton, adjustable sling.  $13.99.  Operators are standing by...

Now, I normally do not fall victim to these sales pitches, but this was one I absolutely could not argue with.  I simply could not refuse.  I swerved into that Walgreens parking lot and ran in like I was on fire.  And when I got home and presented Jack with the sling...

Well, let's just say I'm writing this in complete silence...

 

Oh yeah? Well, when I was your age...

My 11 year old son is bored.

"There's nothing to do", he wails, drawing out the "o" until he's completely out of breath, stretching and kvetching simultaneously. It's 8pm on a warm, summer night. He returned just a few hours ago from four days at our lake house, riding horses, kayaking, swimming, and fishing. Now he's bored.

I can't help it. It frustrates me. "Jack," I say, ordering myself to speak in a conversational tone, "we've got a basketball hoop, ping pong, PS3, a computer..." "I know mom!" he sounds as exasperated as I feel, "I don't feel like any of those things. I want to do something!" (How is it that these things don't constitute doing?) He proceeds to use the family room couch as a gymnastics mat, a trampoline, a...anything other than a device for sitting.

And then it happens. My mouth opens, and before I can stop myself, I become my mother.

"Do you know when I was your age we weren't even allowed to sit inside on a summer day? We spent the whole day outside! From morning until the street lamps came on at night!" Do I stop there? Oh no, I have to make my point! "The only kids' shows on tv were a couple of cartoons (albeit really great cartoons), and they were only on Saturday mornings! Between 8 and 10am! You have got it good, my friend. I wish I'd had what you've got!"

Jack's eyes roll to the back of his head. He gives me the look I used to give my mom when she'd tell me how hard her childhood had been. How they didn't have toys, and they had to play dolls with plastic soap bottles, or some such nonsense.

"Hey Jack," his older brother calls from across the room, "wanna play basketball?" Jack jumps off the couch and races to the garage door. Not nearly as much from an immediate desire for the game, I realize, as an immediate desire to end our one-sided conversation.

My mom was a teacher. So not only did this mean that she always (except for once, when I was in the fourth grade) took the teacher's side, but she was also off during the summers. I have great memories of trips to the public library, reading lists, lounging at the pool. But I'm sure, she thought of this as not only my summer break, but hers, too. And she would probably have liked a day or two to herself. Because as wonderful as my memories might be, I'm quite sure I belted out a few "I'm bored!"'s myself (wait till she reads this, I can just hear the comments!).

But I digress...my son wore himself out playing basketball and slept soundly until about 8 o'clock this morning when I heard "Mom?" (here it comes), "what are we doing today?"

There remain nine, long weeks of summer. What are your kids doing to beat the boredom?

Thankful for the simple things

I've been traveling quite a bit for work lately. So, this past weekend I couldn't wait to get home and have a "normal" weekend with my kids. No unpacking, doing laundry till all hours of the night and then repacking for another trip. I was determined to enjoy our time together.

Jack had a soccer tournament that started Friday night. They won their first game, and Saturday morning we headed back out to Sport Port for the first of two more games. The good guys won 3-2, and were excited about their standings. As we loaded back into the car - Jack, Ella, and Jack's teammate Nick - I called my oldest son, Connor to tell him I'd be home in 20 minutes. I was hoping to spend a few minutes with him before he headed off to the Cardinal's game with a friend.

We turned onto the expressway and I came to a slow stop behind three cars at a red light. I glanced in my rearview mirror (a habit I'd picked up since I'd been rear-ended almost 10 years before), and had a moment of horrible deja vu'... A Ford Excursion was barreling down on us. It all happened within seconds - I turned my head to the right, and shot my arm out in front of Jack, who was sitting in the front passenger seat. I had no way to warn them, could do nothing to protect them. And then the squeal of tears, the impact, and all six air bags erupted in my Saturn Vue. The car filled with smoke from the airbags, and OnStar came over the speakers asking if everyone was okay.

I can't imagine how Connor felt when I called to tell him that I wouldn't make it home in time to see him after all. I imagine the same thought that went through my mind, went through his as well. What if? What if I hadn't been able to call? What if we just hadn't come home? While I talked to police officers, Jack stood on the side of the road holding his little sister. As I walked over to him, he leaned down, kissed the top of her head and whispered, "I'm so glad you're okay." Me too, buddy. Me too.

Thank God, my kids were okay. Minor scraps, a sprained wrist, a mild concussion, and sore neck were all the damage we sustained. The car was another matter - a total loss, the insurance adjuster told us later. I didn't care. Cars can be replaced.

This morning, five days after the accident, I stopped by my 10-year old's school for the Fall Fitness Day Pep Rally. I walked into a sea of red, white and blue. 700 kids from Kindergarten to 5th grade were dressed in their "team" colors. My son Jack, a fifth grader, wore blue from head to toe. Blue face paint, hair color and nail polish completed the look. The middle school band came over to play during the pep rally, which added to my pleasure, as my oldest son is in the band. Their little sister's Pre-K's class was also invited to join the festivities. She sat wide-eyed with her peers, hands clapping along to the music, looking around for her two older brothers, whom she knew were there - somewhere.

I stood with the other parents, watching each of my kids in turn. Connor, playing the clarinet, who knew I was there, but at 13, was not about to acknowledge me. Jack, who, when he saw that I was pointing my camera his way, lit up in a big grin, eager to show off his team spirit. And Ella, who waved me over every time our eyes met across the room.

As we all marched outside, Connor back to his middle school, Ella over to the PreK playground, and Jack, headed outside to battle the white and red teams, I soaked in the autumn sun, the cool breeze, and children's voices rising to a cloudless, blue sky. I raised my eyes upwards and whispered a "thank you." For the simple things, for the normalcy of it all. I am so blessed.

Being Mom: What a Difference A Day Makes

Last night: Raced home, changed clothes, worked out, raced home, cooked dinner, set table, broke up two fights between my sons, did two loads of laundry, raced to store with oldest son to pick up his new glasses, raced home, watched American Idol sans commercials and in fast forward (thanks to DVR), gave Ella a bath, did the dishes, had an argument with Jack (my middle child) that escalated until we were both in tears, tucked in the oldest and youngest, went to talk to Jack only to find him sound asleep, crawled into his bed, hugged him tight and woke him up to tell him how much I love him. Finally went to sleep.

Tonight: My kids are with their dad and I wish I would have slowed down. I wish I would have closed my mouth and opened my arms. I wish I would have remembered that the laundry and the dishes would still be there tomorrow. I wish I would have enjoyed bath time, read a little slower, cuddled a little longer.

Some parenting days are more stressful than others. Sometimes I say "no" when I should have said "yes," and sometimes I say "yes" when I should have said "no." Sometimes I screw up, and make mistakes and wish for a "do-over." But, always, always, I love my kids. And I hope they know that.