girl friday

the phases of motherhood

2016-05-05T10:26:00.000-04:00

mother's day was started by a woman who was never a mother.she was a woman who had a vision. celebrating her mother.

have you ever looked up the definition of mother? go do it. i'll wait. once you get through the more obvious words, you come to this: a woman in authority. and if you keep reading you get to: something that is an extreme example of its kind especially in terms of scale <see the mother of all construction projects>.

so today let's talk about construction. the construction of a mother. or as in my case perhaps the deconstruction as i gingerly negotiate writing censorship <mine> and the request to write less honestly <boys i live with>. i wish i was more like nora ephron whose boys remember her always saying, "everything is copy" meaning anything that happens is fodder to be retold in print. unapologetically. maybe i will someday. but until then, i type ever so gingerly. i tread lightly on the writing.

speaking of treading lightly. nearly 17 years ago, my life took a turn down a path that i don't know if i'll ever clearly understand or fully grasp the rigors it brings (present tense). i've written about it here <see censorship comment>. aired my dirty laundry. expounded on the triumphs and the trials. mostly, i am still that incredulous person wondering when am i going to set sail onto calmer waters in respect to life and specifically mothering. but y'all. it's not happening. and based on the conversations i collect with older mothers, i am beginning to realize that calmer waters are a myth.

i can only venture to guess that it has something to do with the fact that i am trying my best to wrangle some pretty fierce and often ferocious people who i hope will be fierce and ferocious grown ups someday. in all the best ways of course. ferocious for good and for justice and for mercy. fierce for truth and perseverance and grit and courage. those are my hopes. for these souls that have been set in my life to watch and learn from and enjoy and to try REALLY try to instill with bits and pieces of wisdom.

but also to be humbled by these boys of mine who remind me that i've worked really hard to make them independent and then they go and be INDEPENDENT! sometimes in good ways. sometimes not.

the bigger the kid, the bigger their, ahem, let's call them situations.the stakes just get bigger and bolder and grander and potentially more fantastic, right?

this year, i've been stunned by mine and their situations. i've been bowled over by them and heartbroken and clearly as you can tell by my lack of writing, silenced. all in good ways. mostly.

That time your son was recognized by the College of American Pathologist and you stood in the wings and watched.

That time you were checking your phone and looked up to see...

That time you heard a voice overhead-and this time is was a real.

That time your youngest wrote you a note.

That time you watched from your front porch as your boy ran by on his way to his cross country meet.

That time your kids decided to entertain the neighbors with a little FIRE works show.

That one time the coast was clear so you sat to flip through stacks of magazines.

EVERYDAY.ALLDAY.

The time your kid asked you to give him some ink.

He tried. So did she.

That time a boy wondered what he would look like with bolder eyebrows.

Middle school p.e. uniforms. Enough.Said.

THOSE MANY HOURS CHEERING IN THIS FIELD.

That time you sold stuff from a parking lot to raise money for these boys' school.

That time your boy decided he wanted to try a new hobby.

Snoop Dog just cause.

so i continue to tread lightly as i wrestle through writing and parenting. and wondering how i can do both with honesty. i would love to hear from you bloggers who have older kids. how do you do it?

but before i go, i leave you with this, one of my favorite photos with one of my favorite reminders...

happy mother's day to all of you cause we all have mothers to thank for our lives. may all of us strive to be the mother of all...you fill in the blank.

and if you have an hour to spare, listen to this podcast. i was the mother's day guest. we chat bono,jeans and b-12 shots just to name a few.

xo,
gf

doxology and dichotomy: whiskey in church

2016-03-02T21:56:00.000-05:00

as i write, i have a sick kid in bed with me and am listening to my latest crush, the newsroom. it's streaming on netflix. check it out. and since i am like 4 years late to every party, it's so much fun watching the last election with as much excitement as if i wasn't there the first time.

talking about my latest online crush {more tele less otherwise}, had me thinking about last sunday and last sunday reminded me of church and church reminded me of my most favorite childhood story. and well a favorite childhood story begs to be told so here goes...

i grew up in a small town in tennessee. to keep the story short, i'll just say my family found our way into a rather large baptist church where we warmed the pews every sunday for a good 4ish years.

i loved this church. i loved the pastor. so much so that i found myself sitting with this precious man every sunday. what the heehaw i was thinking i do not know. but every sunday i would make my 10 year old self to the FRONT row where I WOULD SIT BY MYSELF with the pastor. i write that in all caps for dramatic effect. now i may have been accompanied by my friend kim, but for the sake of argument, let's pretend i was doing this all on my own, because let's face it that's how i rolled.

Speaking of how I roll, Zoe from Nurse Jackie cause she's pretty much all that and pink track suit.

well, part of the story that needs mentioning was this. i was the youngest of 5 children. i was the youngest by like a lot. that needs to be stated because i had a much older brother who liked to partake in the crown royal. and his pesky littlest sister thought that the purple bag the crown royal came in was damn near, well royal. like "something a princess would carry". do you know where this story is headed? yeah.

so after the bottle of the crown royal was enjoyed {or maybe to shush the littlest sister}, my brother gave me, the littlest, the said legendary bag that once came with the bottle of whiskey. and you know what i did with it?

well, i used it as a pocketbook like any self respecting, {ignorant} southern baptist girl would do. i would carefully tuck my bible with my name emblazoned in gold, a myriad of highlighters, as well as a fresh pack of velamints and my tithe money in that purple velvet tote with the gold embroidery. and then i would march down the aisle. all.the.way.to.the.front. of the church where i would take my place on the front row, beside the pastor. of the baptist church. with my contraband accessory. only, and this is the greatest part, i had no clue anything i was doing was at all worthy of speculative banter. like, o, i don't know, "where did that little girl get THAT bag?" {my brother} or "what kind of family drinks whiskey?" {MINE} or "does she not know that this is the house of the Lord?" {yes, and...} so i share this most favorite childhood story with you because it is pretty much still who i am 35 years later. it was what those in the literary world would call a foreshadowing.

i am still that little girl sitting very reverently {and irreverently} on the front row of a church. the only difference is now i am sitting with boys, not a pastor.

i am the mother of boys who can pull the biggest pranks whilst enjoying the view from the front of church. and you know what? for the most part, i just let it go.

when one of my boys brings his soccer ball and tries to volley during the sermon, i admonish him for reasons of safety-mostly. when another wishes to sit and chat with his friend the entire time, i quiet him with a "it's rude to talk while someone else is speaking". and when another pulls out a snack of a hotdog and proceeds to enjoy the snack whilst sitting up front-well, i say, "this is NOT a baseball game. cool it with the snacks". and throw in, "you're making everyone else hungry".

Passing notes in church cause goodness, quiet down already!

my point is my poor parents had to watch in horror as i walked down the center aisle every sunday in a small town baptist church toting our family secret which as it turns out wasn't the biggest family secret we had. and i am here to shout, "if you can't let your secrets slip out in church, then where can you?" or that's the way it should be. and that's the way it is where i sit.

to be fair, i am sure this crown royal situation happened exactly one time before my panicked mother and father took away my pretty, little purse and replaced it with something, ahem, more appropriate. but baby, i will always have my crown royal bag at church-and if you know me, you know what i am saying, right? cause i am a little rowdy like that. kid on the front row and all.

so here i am rambling about whiskey in church. and yeah, that's about right. that's how i see it. children in church. acting up and acting just about perfect cause let's face it when i see kids at my church running around or dancing up front or crying out LOUD or singing the doxology at the top of their lungs, i can't help but feel like THIS is what jesus meant and means for all of us. whiskey in church. irreverent plays nicely with the reverent cause we are all both. hopeful and hopeless. doxology and dichotomy. and hopefully letting our secrets slip out in the best ways.

xoxo,
GF

p.s.

Okay so this was a wedding reception, but you see what I mean, right?

If you build it, they will come

2016-02-21T16:25:00.000-05:00

Settle in. This is sure to be a lengthy piece. It's been so long since I've written here that I forgot how to log on. Excuse the absence. Life has been wrought with a lot of, well with a lot. I'll leave it at that. Add to it, one of son's friends found my little writing spot and unearthed his anonymity and you have the making of a blog lock down, or take down might be more like it.

But here I am. I am back. Hopefully, to write more consistently. The opinions here are expressly mine. And I will take full responsibility for my inconsistencies, hypocrisies and otherwise lack of professionalism. But hear this. I am writing from a place of nothing but love in hopes of bringing about better stewardship. Today's topic: EDUCATION.

What's more divisive than politics and religion? You gots it. The big "E". So without further adieu...

{Let me preface this letter with an introduction. I am Tracy Utley, a long time lover of education, a once upon a time teacher, a homeschool mom who straddles between homeschooling our youngest child and sending middle and high schoolers to public schools. In the words of Bono, this is not a rebel song. It's meant to encourage us to do what we do best as parents, be builders. It's meant to maybe begin a dialogue which I hope can be productive and illuminating. And more than anything, encourage community, peace and love. As Abraham Lincoln once reminded, "A house divided cannot stand." I see this as true in my neighborhood. A neighborhood divided cannot stand. Unanimous agreement is incongruent with being human. But one thing I hope we can all agree on as families is this, seeing the role in education as primarily the parent's mandate. And for that reason we understand that if we don't build something, it might not come.}

AN OPEN LETTER TO EDUCATION DISSONANCE

Dear Education Dissonance,

You are the elephant in the room right now, actually not in the room, but in our neighborhood. We all talk about you in sketchy, unclear terms, but it's hard to grapple with the spirit of something so let me be clear. This is about choosing to dig in and dig deep into keeping our neighborhood schools thriving rather than letting something else move us to send our kids someplace else for school.

My mother always told me if you are not part of the solution, you are part of problem. The way I see this situation playing out is either you leave our community, or we are going to be forced to take you down one choosing parent at a time. Dissonance, you have no place here.

We see you sweep in and scare and weaken the stalwart. That is not cool, Dissonance. You leave your mark in social circles that are peppered with gossip and buttressed with secrecy. Instead of bringing unity, instead of reminding us that we are all for the same thing, a strengthening economy of academic excellence, you make us feel that we are only out for number one, ourselves, our kid. But we know better because fear is a liar.

You see fear not only lies, but it fractures relationships and breaks the harmony that is the cornerstone to building community. And when these quaking and intimidated families bail on their neighborhood schools, they take with them the monies that won't make their way into their neighborhood schools, the land where kids can play with their school classmates. Dissonance, you call that "yesteryear", a passing fancy that no longer is attainable. And it becomes a vicious cycle because once the money leaves the building (neighborhood school), the long sought for classes and teachers and extracurriculars are taken. And this keeps parents from choosing the neighborhood school. See how manipulative you are?

Dissonance, you make mountains out of mole hills and mole hills into mountains. You create obstacles where there should be none. You remove sincere families who are the builders and turn them into consumers. You needle into the fiber of family involvement by insisting that the grass is greener on the other side of town where the other schools are. And just when we are to the very brink of personal and familial exhaustion, you give one final blow. You show us that the school that we ran from, the one that is in our neighborhood, the one where our kids could have gone and flourished if we had shown up ready to build, was really the better choice.

Damn you, Dissonance.

Sincerely,

GirlFriday

Do you understand the letter? How can we be the change we want to see?

I do not have the answers. I am only and I mean only a parent who really, really wants the kids on my street and up the street and those who have parents who don't have the time to invest, to have a place to call school and for that school to be in their neighborhood. Mine included.

Bonus: Having your kid run by your house en route to his cross country meet.

rough and rowdy ways

2014-11-24T15:48:00.000-05:00

fatigue overcame me so i sat down to rest, but my mind wouldn't stop downloading information so i decided to look through some photos. my eyes stopped at these.

taken by a boy. of two girls who happen to have 10 boys between them. "lord have mercy on our rough and rowdy ways."

these photos, a reminder from a few weeks ago when this dear friend came for a very quick visit because she knew i needed it.

she and i go way back. like before kids, before husbands, before stillborn babies and lay offs, before the death of a father and loads of moves. we have a history, but one that was begun and stands on one truth.

i gave my camera to the 11 year old who got cheeky. then the 8 year old decided to photo bomb in the form of jumping out in front doing the splits. and high society ladies walked by looking at us and murmuring something under their breath. i am not quite sure what it was as i was literally crying with laughter. and it felt so good and so right.

to be there in front of that display of mums laughing our hearts out. a suspended moment of bliss. forgetting all the worries of the moment to just laugh.

and as we did that rascally boy chronicled it all with the click of a camera.

please tell me this is something that you do too. dropping everything. taking a break to laugh. especially now with thanksgiving on our heels.

laughter really does make the heart glad like good medicine. and when life feels daunting and unmanageable, good medicine helps. in the form of laughter. or a good cocktail.

laughter has a way to break through.sometimes it sneaks up and surprises us like a boy who jumps in a photo at just the right moment.sometimes it's the reminder from a friend that you are worth dropping life for just to come.for a few hours.

however it comes, may we always break for laughter. life is full and tragic and wonderful and messy and blissful. might as well laugh when you can.

xo,

this woman's work

2014-11-10T12:50:00.000-05:00

last week i stood on a stage and gave the following talk before a room full of strangers and friends. this is my story. personal and honest. it's not meant to be a rubric or remedy. the topic of the talk was faith and work. this is about my work.

let me tell you about what happened last week. on thursday my 13 year old jumped the fence after our dog jumped the fence. one made it over, the other did, but sustained a broken arm. the next day whilst i was driving this dear 13 year old to the doctor, i got a call from my oldest's son's school telling me he had fallen and needed medical attention. so my husband took two boys to see the orthopedic surgeon. and you know what? only one ended up needing surgery. that was halloween. a mess. and speaking of a mess.

i am nothing if not a mess. a fully flawed ridiculous unpredictable dormant volcano that could spew volcanic ash in the form of expletives at any moment or sit down cuddle up and read a loving bed time story. in other words, i am a mother.

and as a mother, it's not like i planned to wake up one day and pull my oldest child out of one of the most desirable suburban schools in one of the best school districts in the area (which i did) only to move him and his brothers to one of the lesser desirable neighborhoods in the inner city (which i did). it's not like i decided that after nearly 10 years of homeschooling, the school the oldest would attend, was the one that just happens to be across the street from where we live and was once considered to be one of the most dangerous schools in america (which i did). that wasn't my plan. but that's what happened. even though i didn't plan it. i am not much of a planner really in fact...

as i was preparing for this talk, i sat in front of a white screen. for a like a long time. trying to think up what i had to share. i had so much swirling in my mind to share. to narrow it down seemed daunting and somewhat impossible, but as i was driving away from my childhood home with my darling 13 year old after tending to my terminally ill mother, i knew.

i told him to look at the sunset in our rear window. and it came to me. one chapter of my life is setting. the one in which i am a daughter of a mother.

i find myself in a surreal place right now. sandwiched in between taking care of the one who mothered me and taking care of those whom i mother.

i remember when i was in college studying the women who were caring for their parents whilst caring for their own children. it seemed like that demographic was older. much older than 43. but here i am. driving in between tending to my dying mother and tending to my lively boys. and it's just well, weird.

i didn't choose to be somebody's daughter, but i chose to be somebody's mother.

in my talk tonight i want to make two things clear. one, i think we need to change the definition of what, yes i said what, a mother is. i think we can all agree it is more that a woman in care of a child. it's more broad.

and here's why i say that. you see i have been mothered by someone, my friend jacqueline, who is younger than me, and she would love to hear me acknowledge that. and who does not have children of her own yet. being a mother isn't about hierarchy or birth plans. i've been taught about what makes a good mother by women who are without children in their care and may never "have" children.

i consider a woman who seeks to leave the world better than she found it by remarkably and altruistically looking out for her fellow man and woman, a mother. that's broad i realize, but so is the job of motherhood. broad. not 9-5. there is no retirement package with a gold watch either. are you following me?

and the second thing i want you to know is i didn't become a mother because i didn't have anything better going on. it was not a last resort. it was a first resort.

i approached motherhood, or rather it approached me long before i had my first child.

like most vocations, it was something i knew from early on, i am talking like 4 years old, that this was what i wanted as a career. to be a career mother. it was what occupied me so it became my occupation if you will.

my story of motherhood is a little like a drunk fest. sometimes i feel like i woke up with four kids without any recollection of how they arrived (sorry, honey). and i feel hung over. a lot. i sometimes still feel like that 18 year old teenager waiting for the parents to come home. only they never do cause i am the parent.

i think it is because i felt so much of the weight and joy of mothering even way back when i was working in the nursery at church, babysitting and teaching school. children have always held my gaze and my passion. other's children first, eventually my own.

i have to say after living almost 16 years with children i feel no better at being a mother no better prepared for what is to come.

as a family, we hike. and motherhood is akin to a hike. adventurous and beautiful, but it can be horrible and daunting. and much like a tricky hike, once you reach what you assume to be the summit, you are shown that this is just a base camp. so you arm yourself with an extra tank of oxygen and continue the sojourn.

when two of my boys decided they wanted to jump off the trail of homeschooling for a more traditional public school experience, i breathed deeply and went with it. and on those trails, one to high school, one to middle school, i saw a lot. much like a naturalist, i captured conversations and samples of family dynamics of their classmates.

it continues to prove to be one of the most remarkable experiences of my life. being called "mother" by children who have painful relationships with their own mothers. watching my oldest son thrive in a school where he is challenged academically yes, but where he is challenge in even more beautiful and redemptive ways. ways i think he may be completely unaware of. like being a minority, having friends who are in pursuit of academic excellence like he, but who may be of a different race, socio economic background, living in homes with different family dynamics.

i remember introducing some of his cross country team mates to pumpkin muffins. after they got over the initial shock of eating a food that was orange, but not neon orange, they asked me to bring this homemade goodness to each and every cross country meet.

i remember stifling laughter when another of his classmates asked, "why is there grass on my chicken?" he was referring to the rosemary we had sprinkled on his chicken leg before we set it on the grill.

motherhood has schooled me. still does everyday. what i have learned is motherhood isn't about shaming-myself or my children. it's about instilling. it's about knowing what you want and knowing how to ask for it from yourself and your children.

motherhood isn't about protecting as much as it's about equipping. motherhood isn't about always having the right answer. there is courage and wisdom in saying, "i don't know."

being a mother isn't as much about reaping as it is about sowing. it isn't about saving the day as much as it is just showing up.

it's not about hiding behind an embankment that can become our children. it's not about hiding at all. it's about being known. and being known can be terrifying. motherhood is like an excavation-digging to find treasure. to see good.

but here's the thing. some days, like a lot of days my thoughts on becoming a mother are less "hallelujah" and more "shit! what was i thinking?"

there is a tension i straddle between the lord's prayer of "thy kingdom come, thy will be done" and the promise, "it is finished". living in my neighborhood, being in my oldest son's school, i am reminded of how hard life can be and knowing how the story ends helps me metabolize hard stuff. i know that in the end the good guy wins. and that is my comfort as i raise men to leave this crazy world better than they found it.

and the way i do that is by teaching them to root for the underdog cause guess what we are all the underdog and the one whom my boys and i follow was once an underdog.

so i scramble around with my brood of boys, seeking justice which means i have to get up off my sofa and go out into the world. i aim to love mercy. so we leave our four walls and go out into the world to kick up some community. and my heart is to walk humbly with our god by stirring the stick in the proverbial camp fire. to light a torch for those who are apt to adopt a stranger as their mother and call her out at tailgating event. or maybe that that just happens to me. and boy and i fortunate to have that happen. i know that. just like i knew nearly 40 years ago that i wanted to be a mother, anybody's mother.

god used motherhood to make me a living witness of his goodness. especially when i find myself caring for a dying mother and boys with broken bones.

this is my story-

and i'm sticking to it,

xo gf

naked

2014-10-28T21:41:00.000-04:00

a few nights ago i had a dream. i was walking around my neighborhood,running errands, doing the mundane only i was completely naked. like not a stitch of clothing. on my body. at first i was shocked when i realized it, but then something changed inside and i felt empowered, emboldened. it felt necessary,not naughty. it felt purposeful,not perverted.

i was recounting my dream to the mister. i asked what he thought it meant. he laughed thinking back to the weekend when our youngest had traipsed around our 5 acres of land in the country completely naked. he swam in the pond and reveled in the obscurity of being out in the woods. but my husband's interpretation of my dream didn't seem to fit. my dream seemed more metaphorical than literal. it felt more like necessary vulnerability than daredevil antics so i tabled it til i went to see about my mother.

in many ways i feel like my mother went missing about 8 years ago. right after our youngest was born. and in many ways when she checked out, i forgot that once we had a tender and sweet kinship. she went missing and took many of my fondest and most tender memories with her. she's a hard one this mother of mine. stoic, yet loyal. fierce, yet loving. unwavering, yet generous. far from sentimental.

today i read to her. i opened several cards that were sent from my friends, strangers to her, telling my mother she was being cared for from afar. the vulnerability was too much for my weak minded mother. she changed the subject.

i thought to when she came to sit in my hospital room when the doctor told me i had cancer. she asked the doctor if it was her fault, because she smoked. i thought of when she came to help me mother my first born and my second and my third. somewhere around the 4th she threw in the towel and our relationship changed. i guess she saw that i was in capable hands. my own. and she sort of stopped coming around. the only time i saw her was when i drove to her. and that cut hard. a deep wedge that i will never understand.

today i asked her what she thought of dying. if there was anything she wanted to say, any unresolved feelings or stories she needed to get off her chest. i know my mother's childhood was not sweet or gentle but i only know this by subtle hints. she hasn't let any of her kids in on much of the details. and in some ways she seems like a stranger to me. so we sat on my sister's sofa. and she gently asked if there was anything i had left to say. and just like that i opened up. like a storm cloud. but with gratitude.

i thanked her for doing better than her parents. for protecting her children the best she could. i thanked her for all of the drives she made up to see me when i was in college. all of the care packages she sent. for taking me to europe and on family vacations. for always giving us her best, the best she could. giving us the most comfortable bed in the house when we came to visit. having cupboards stocked with food and never letting our dirty laundry hit the floor before throwing them in the washing machine.even now i can think of a hundred more things to add to the list.

it is clear to me, and i told her, that she did the very best she could. i told her even when she was not nice, but harsh and i had to politely, yet firmly tell her that she was not allowed to speak to me that way, that i know she was doing her best. and as i spoke she wept. and i wept. and i knew that she needed to be let off the hook.

as she slept most of the day, i read a book on (ironically) parenting. it soothed me and reminded me that we as parents are not the saviors of our children. parenting is more mundane than anything as grandiose. it's more about stewardship than saving the day. it's more about the grunt work than the frills. it's more about being faithful in the little things than grand gestures. it's more about sowing than reaping.

i left my mother and drove back into town under an ominous cloud. literally. i dodged the wind and made my way into the thrift store. boys needed stuff, and i their mother was the person for the job.

it hit me like a ton of bricks. two hours earlier i had been helping my mother find her way to the bathroom, and tucking her into bed and trying my best to sleep in the same bed with her. i had spent a mere 24 hours mothering my own diminishing disease riddled mother. now i was back in my adopted hometown mothering my boys by way of finding them the necessary accoutrements for their halloween costumes. what a weird dichotomy.

i left the thrift store empty handed and continued my way across town.upon my arrival, i was met with a tepid welcome. the boys were distracted with a guy named wallace and his dog gromit. i didn't take it personally. i poured a glass of wine and decided to shower whilst the mister tended to dinner.

in the shower,it hit me. that same feeling that has been sneaking up from behind for the passed few weeks. a confusing, "i want my mother to be out of pain, but i want my mother". even now i cannot explain the confusion. it's not the wine. believe me. it's not the wine. i wept in the shower and thought of the vulnerability in seeing my mom's naked body today as i helped the nurse dress her after her bath. i don't think i have seen her naked since i was a little girl, and she and i took baths together every night. how did i not think of that til now?

i finished up my shower, dressed and joined my 5 boys at the supper table. the mood was heavy. i looked at those eyes, my own eyes red rimmed. and i decided to charge in. no holds barred. no stone unturned. no story off limits. and my boys know. we live honestly and in light of the goodness of the creator who recklessly throws open the door and calls us all his and never picks favorites and always shows up and understands that our frailty is what keeps us from taking ourselves too seriously. lest we do, we may forget that we too still need a little more time to find our footing. but never throws in the towel.

dear ones, i deeply and humbly thank you for all your care, well wishes, prayers, cards, chocolates and meals as we continue to live in this sad place of watching my mother metaphorically pack her bags for home.

xo,

left behind

2014-10-14T16:06:00.000-04:00

hey you. i've been ignoring you. on purpose. i've been thinking of all kinds of way to break up. to plead the fifth. to forget. to be too busy to remind myself of your existence. the truth is, well, the truth is i've come down with a big case of the scaredy cats and haven't had an ounce of will to buck up. i don't think i ever will. so i put on my crush eddie who sings, "just breathe" and here goes. i write to say...

yesterday, it hit me. we were fresh from the sandy shore where i purchased from my very favorite bookstore a blank journal in hopes of converting it to the day timer calendar of my dreams (after a short, but exhausting search which left me wanting). as i jotted the dates and blocks of days that added to a year, it hit me. it's very likely this year will bring the loss of my mother and the thought even now as i sit makes me well, sad. let's just say sad cause i wouldn't want to lean towards the dramatic like "life changing" or "shattering" so i'm sticking with sad-for right now.

for the past month i've been sitting on a keg of a blogpost. my mother has stage 4 inoperable incurable lung cancer. she's 77. she's smoked a long time. but here's the thing, dear loved ones. when someone you knows tells you her mother has lung cancer, please don't let the first words you utter be, "does she smoke" like many of those who i've shared my troubling family news with have responded.

here's why. we all deserve to die-but grace, praise the lord, grace usurps that tormenting truth and allows us to relish, like a float down a lazy river, the love and courtesy of a saviour who says, "there is a better way-me." so yeah. don't start with the "i told you so" when someone tells you their mother is dying. it's just poor form.

so here we are. me wrestling wild ass monkeys (aka my children). them winning. mostly cause i am older and slower and not as smart or energetic and let's not forget distracted whilst a couple hours away my mom is living with broke down lungs. it's all so surreal. and sickening.

my sister takes her to an appointment and phones me to process the news. i drive over to see my mom on the days when my boys are in their one day a week tutorial for a visit with a doctor or take her to lunch or be shunned cause she really can't be bothered with me being all weepy all over the place.

geez. could somebody make an app for that? the "schedule a break down app"? in between the taking the dogs out and driving the cross country team?

i was cleaning out one of the two cabinets i have in my kitchen (first world problems) when the littlest bemoaned his homemade biscotti was too hot (first, first world problems). and like a voice over the intercom, i heard my voice say, "honey, i am sorry. i burned the biscotti. i am having a hard time thinking of nana dying."

and like kids and life do, we just move on. down the road. to carpool and family vacation and supermarket outings. but in the corner of my mind, i think of the burying of the only person in my life who still worries when i drive alone or with my boys. who is that "call me when you get there" voice. the only person who can make me want to bang my head against the wall, but whose approval i think i still secretly and sickening wish i had (it'll never happen. just when she got used to my homeschooling and became an all "down with public school" zealot, i put two of my boys in public school so in her defense i am pretty maddening myself.)

so here we are. you, me and cancer. not my cancer (been there done that) or that of my Mister or my boys (thank god). but cancer that is taking away the only grandmother my boys have ever known. the one who always had a hot meal, their favorite food group-macaroni and cheese-from the box,like they like it-waiting for them when they arrived from an arduous journey be it from maryland or nashville. and i am sad. so let me just sit in that for a while. or for a long while. or probably forever because death or the thought of it kind of sucks. not for those who are dying necessarily, but for those who are left behind.

that's it. so if you see me out and about and i look distracted or my kid shows up without his homework (or having studied for his art history quiz) or i forget about a meeting, just know. it's cause i'm sad. that's it.

yours,

eyes to see

2014-09-04T10:09:00.001-04:00

i am writing to you from my kitchen. i am writing to you on the heels of an early morning bible study where a mom, one of my own heart, followed me to my car with tears in her eyes to tell me that i'm a good mom. i couldn't accept her words. i had to deflect. i write to you with trembling hands perhaps from too much caffeine or perhaps because i feel so compelled that what i have to say is sacred truth that i feel unworthy to deliver the text. or perhaps due to both. i write to you as a broken, flawed, hopelessly selfish daughter of a brilliant, trustworthy, perfect creator. wondering how can the perfect creator fashion such broken vessels.

here is what i've been stewing on since the wee hours of the morning when i read my soul sister's blog post about her wee boy. what if we as parents, friends, daughters, members of society in general missed the mark? what if we see things so skewed that we don't really see at all? as i type now, my heart is crying, "lord, give me eyes to see."

the impetus for this tangent began when i read this, a friend's boy kicked and hit his teacher. at first blush most of us would feel what my friend did, shock. without knowing this child and his start in this world, you may judge the mom and say, "get your child under control". but what you would miss is that this child's tenacious lashing out is what actually quite literally saved his life once upon a time.

you see this boy was born in china, with a cleft palate. his deformity so great in the eyes of his biological mother and father, that he was left on the side of the road. to die. alone. let that sink in.

my precious friend adopted this baby who was left to die. his strength and will, that same tenacity my friend parents albeit with much grace and admitting frustration, is what the creator had for him. built into him so that this boy would survive when he was abandoned as a baby. what the evil one meant for ill, the creator used for good. and 4 years later that same tenacity and will is what is getting his mother called into meetings to discuss possible behavior plans.

here's the thing. i am not condoning this child's hitting. and certainly his mother is not, but what if we as a society stepped back from all this behavior modifying and thought with our god-given higher order thinking skills. instead of throwing the baby out with the bath water, how about we think about the baby and how the baby is more important.

i think about in my own home. i have a stoic, argumentative child who sees things in black and white. there is no margin for error. and he gets on my ever loving nerves. this morning i thought about his personality and how much i would like to change it. but then i wondered, what if what i perceive as his weaknesses are really his strengths? what if i am so busy trying to fashion him into what society says is happy, successful and promising that i miss the opportunity to enjoy him for who he was made to be?

now let me remind you that 1) i know we are inherently flawed 2) i am not condoning letting people get away with being jerks.

i guess what i am trying to convey is, instead of walking around judging and prescribing quick fix remedies that will make us all nice and safe, why don't we calm the heck down. take a minute to think and enjoy and question. are what we perceive as weaknesses maybe really strengths and what we perceive as strengths maybe weaknesses?

i give the example of another one of my children. he's warm, helpful, always gets paid loads of compliments by the way he interacts with little children and adults alike. his personality is sunny. he's the one who notices when i get a new outfit. forget about half full, his glass is always overflowing regardless of the situation. he is a model kid at home and abroad. my friends always are shocked when they ask, "which of your children are you most concerned about" and i give his name. on the outside, he's damn near perfect. which makes me wonder, what is going on in his deep dark parts? will all this catch up with him? and what was once seen as his strengths be his demise?

today as i go about my day, i am setting an intention. to not be so quick to scold. instead of crying, "dear god, change them." to cry out, "dear god, give me eyes to see."

"to see what?" you might ask. to see truth. to see beauty. to see the boy who walks in the door at the end of the day with a surly attitude as a boy who needs, nay, deserves my love lavished on him as much as the boy who runs back in to give me a hug before he sets off for the day.

and i hope that you too will have eyes to see all of the love and beauty and brokenness and possibility in those with whom you surround yourselves. the friends and the foe, the neighbors and the co-workers. the children and the parents. if we all could just have eyes to see, wonder how much would be revealed and how much good would we see and how much change would come?

yours in word and deed,

xo gf

losing and keeping

2014-08-21T15:43:00.001-04:00

i began my 11th year of homeschooling 9 days ago. 7 days in, i lost my shit. my class roster read 2, but those 2 are filled to the brim with wiliness. like it's a spiritual gifting or something. you can only hear such things as, "let's play chiropractor" a few times when you should be hearing nothing before that metaphorical kettle boils over. and boy, mine did. it was bad. we had tears (mostly mine). we had slammed doors (only mine). and we had hair pulling (see a pattern?) and then i decided. "i'm done."

the next day the boys woke like sprites completely unfazed by the previous day's antics. but not me. i was worn weary wondering how the hee-haw i was supposed to get through the next 172 days with these raconteurs. but i've been taught to set an intention through the practice of yoga so that's what i did. for that day i set an intention to remember that this process of do-it-yourself educating is a slow and often arduous trail that takes you off the paved roads and sometimes into the brambles. and boy, were we feeling the stickers. so after 7 hard days, i cried uncle. and we blew off school. and went to the pool.

we stayed basking in the vacant waters through two swim breaks and two sunscreen applications. and then we packed up and came home to read and rest for the rest of the day.

the mood was lighter and sweeter and more gentle which is the tone i'm trying to strike with this business of raising men specifically schooling them.

so after a 24 hour break and a change in prospective, we began afresh. we each agreed where we were wrong. we each took the blame. we each accepted forgiveness. and just like that we launched back into those testy waters of school. at home.

but yesterday as i swam with my beloved boys, the silly stress of unreachable expectations washed away. i let the chlorinated water clear away much of my shit. you know the shit i thought i had lost the day before. after 7 days of maddening cat herding? yep. nothing like a jump in calm waters to calm me. and them.

so here i am. sitting before you with laptop in lap hoping that you'll continue to point me to the true north which is not the land of santa and other fairy tales and other unreasonable expectations. it's a place where truth hangs out and little boys are enjoyed and disciplined and loved and laughed with and encouraged and held accountable.

and speaking of second chances and being held accountable, i am reminded of how many millioneth chances are reigned down on me and how i stand in awe of all that ridiculous grace from my Mister, my boys and my creator. so let's just keep on lavishing grace shall we? play nice. laugh more. and try to keep our shit together shall we?

no, the irony of our read aloud is not lost on this girl

yours in truth and much weakness,

xo gf

are we there yet?

2014-08-14T10:10:00.000-04:00

for some reason, and i don't know from where i got my information, but for some reason, i thought once upon a time that parenting was hardest in the beginning climbed to its height of difficulty when the child was around 5 and then became remarkably and uneventfully well, easy. i've only been at it for 15 years, but based on my personal experience and that of my friends with older kids, it.only.gets.more.challenging.

yesterday we were trying to finish up supper for a family walk. as we tidied the dishes and swept the floor, one of our boys argued. not over the task of sweeping, but over a dispute that he and i had had hours prior over, well, i honestly cannot remember what. but he was what we in the south like to term "stewing" and what i mean by this is this boy who i adore cannot stand being w-r-o-n-g. and he cannot stand being called out. and when i do call him out, it turns into a back and forth like something from a courtroom. "what is your evidence?" "how can you prove probable cause?" "did you see the defendant lay down that towel and then leave the scene?"

y'all. it's akin to that darling stage in a child's development when everything is "why?" only this go around the kid has a larger vocabulary, an arsenal of excuses and doesn't require snacks or naps to refuel their energies.

i've been thinking a lot about how we never really leave a stage of parenthood, it just sort of changes. parenting to me feels like i'm that little kid starting out on a road trip with my parents. my small legs dangling over the seat. i can't see past the front seat, and i keep asking, "are we there yet?" o, sure. i should be all "enjoy the ride, look out the window. enjoy the adventure." but, really. all i want to know is "when are we freakin' going to get 'there' cause i'm feeling carsick? " wherever there is.

i have decided to keep a tally of how often i get interrupted whilst using the loo. every.single.time. i go to the bathroom, i hear, "hhheeeeeeyyyyy, mom?" and guess what? my kids are too old for this. the youngest is 8 for crying out loud. it got me to wondering how much of life repeats itself.

for instance, the other day i was standing in the kitchen. the 13 year old walked over to me and hugged me. hard. and you know what? it was the best thing i have ever felt in my life. in fact i told him that his affection is the only gift he ever has to give me. for the rest of his life. he rolled his eyes as he shot a glance in his father's direction. "riiiiight." but i meant it. wholeheartedly. a hug from your toddler is precious. an unsolicited hug from your teenager is epic. a choice action. a reminder that in all of this screwed up parenting game, you still are in the game. at least.

sleepless nights still come though you are no longer up feeding a wailing infant. you are feeding your fears of whether or not this whole thing will work out.

fighting over independence? yup. only the littles who want to "do it by myself" are now 15 year olds who think they no longer need you for, well, anything.

getting them to eat well, stay safe. none of that changes as your children get older. it just gets bigger. as does your love. they can do more so you expect more. and sometimes that leads to more frustration when they don't do the things you know they can do (and have told them to do like a million times). and then you remember they are just a kid after all. and you remember that handy and effective tool called grace. the grace that is extended to you over and over. and with all your might, you wrench that out to use on your kid. and boy, is that the best thing.

i remember gazing at my newborn with a love that felt otherworldly. yesterday as my 13 year old walked out the door, i felt that love. a hundred times stronger. only instead of it being one sided, it came back when he said, "i need you to be my mom."

and when i am invited into the 15 year old's inner circle, a circle of one, i am grateful. he shows me what he's working on, thinking about and i cautiously tread because i never know when he's going to become incensed with me. and showing him any kind of affection is akin to court room, "permission to approach the bench" kind of exchange. never one to show his anger. i read an excerpt from a paper he once wrote, "i rarely become anger". what? is this kid really mine?

o, but he is. and so are his 3 little wild ass brothers. we have a somewhat long history with one another. a tiring history. and speaking of tiring. parenting older kids, with all the running around, staying up late helping them understand a math concept, shuttling around to this place and that-is just exhausting. so take cheer, dear young parents. you have time. so rest now.

xo,

woo with flowers. keep with service.

2014-08-12T23:52:00.000-04:00

damn it. i hate a cliché. like really hate. and i had so planned, so very much planned to get through this day without a blog post. i know what you're thinking, "o, you're still writing?" yeah, yeah. i'm a big ole slacker when it comes to doing things that do not involve keeping my little world turning(aka driving carpool and keeping kids alive and educated). but there i was driving down gallatin (beck's que onda guero

was written after he drove down that colorful road-okay maybe not, but that's my story, and i'm writing so). and it hit me.

and i knew i had to write this down for all you to read and for my boys to never read and for Mister to maybe read.

holding on for dear life

today marks 19 years of wedded-what-the-hell-are-we-doing. o, and bliss. nothing but bliss, bless our young, little hearts that fateful hot-as-heck august afternoon in a college chapel without a/c. and here we are still digging one another and still well, together. now, that my darlings is a miracle. and i dare say had i married any of those rascals who wooed me once upon a time, this story would not have a happily ever after. i would be divorced because well, i have a way with men. a way of driving them crazy. and not in the catwoman kind of way, but in the 1-800-imgettingtheheehawoutofhere kind of way. because? you ask. because i am a bit of a challenge. in the truest sense of the word.

case in point. who wouldn't want to be married to that scowl?

so this morning by dawns early light when the oldest got up to leave for his lengthy 5 minute walk to school, the Mister gave me my anniversary gift. now let me stop right here to explain to all you doe-eyed younguns who have been married for less than 10 minutes, this gift was the best gift.like ever.

was it jewelry? no. flowers? no. i'll cut to the chase cause i don't even have time to filter through all the possibilities. and since the traditional gift for such a monumental occasion is a bronze chess set(eye roll), suffice it to say, that would not have bode well with me. for my 15 year old, yes, but it's not his anniversary.

so now you're so wondering what did this man of steel give to his beloved bride on the morning of their 19 wedded anniversary. yeah? yeah?

nothing. nada. zilch. because, he gave me himself which is all this girl could ever possibly ask for. um. well. yes. kind of.

the man who knows me o so well gave me nothing because he knew what i really wanted was a day off. plain and simple. and o, so satisfying.

yes, sir. it was a slam dunk. the Mister stayed home from his work to do my work. he drove the middle schooler to school (which he does every day, but still!). he spent hours schooling the two littlest on their memory work, map writing, biome studying, latin conjugating, peter pan reading, math assessment giving. and i sat in bed sipping my coffee in my jammies til nearly 11am! not fancy coffee either. just coffee that i made as i listened to him help with their recitations. and show the boys a short video on charlemagne-who by the way from what i heard for the 2.3 minutes i left my room, was not such a bad guy. it was a decadent day. a treat.

fighting off scurvy and starvation with a rousing watch of charlemagne and popcorn

and i sat back, i thought about all those "older couples" with their saggy selves who once said things to me like, "marriage changes the older you become." and i stamped my foot and said to them, "it sounds like you're settling." but they weren't, and we aren't. unless you consider settling, settling down and taking life a little less seriously. (and i am settling down a lot since i started taking some cool new supplements-wink wink).

but, lest you think we've always been THIS fabulous and always known how to give and accept gifts graciously, i'll remind you of a time i wrote about. the time that my poor, young, unassuming husband gave me dish covers on our first married christmas. the ones i said we needed, but who wants to get what they need on christmas? (i do. now. 19 years later.) when i spent the day crying in the bathroom cause i may have been prone to drama-once upon a time. but since then we have learned that sometimes the best gifts are acts of service. and the Mister excels at this. kindly, graciously and ever so patiently. he even admitted as he went out the door to drive carpool to triathlon practice, "i loved today." and my very tired boys, said, "when are yoooou coming back, mom?" cause let's just say, the Mister is a little more rigorous than girl friday-who allows popsicles BEFORE math is finished and allows snacks BEFORE lunch.

what a fantastic 19 years it's been. this man is a saint. and i am one lucky sinner.

xo in wedded bliss,

calm in the storm

2014-07-18T16:38:00.000-04:00

i'm slurping my favorite iced coffee bought for me by one of my favorite boys. he took me out on a date. and proceeded to pinch the fire out of me when i told the cashier that we were on our first date. "that is a definite no no on a real date, boy." he winced when i reminded him, "and if you ask a girl out, make sure you have enough cash to cover the bill" (as i pulled out a fiver to cover our tab).

across town the mister waits as our first born takes(and passes)his driver's permit test. i cheer him on, "mama's little DD!" he rolls his eyes.

these boys are growing up at such a rapid pace. i have given up trying to keep up.

3 extra boys find their way into our yard for a rousing game of soccer. as they kick the ball, i scour the news. the news that the mister tries to keep me abreast of over our dinner table. but i can not always hear him above the voices of boys laughing and arguing. i read a plane has fallen out of the sky carrying with it almost 300 souls. i think back to a few weeks ago when four of my favorite souls soared in a plane above their uncle's farm. i cannot imagine losing them.

a timer on my phone reminds me of my intention to practice fixed hour prayers. i stop to pray for a friend who's in the hospital enjoying her second baby. i am reminded of a conversation i had with my boys as we prayed for her delivery. as we were praying for her, my boys remembered, "didn't she have a miscarriage once or was it twice?" it was so tender of them to know this as we have found ourselves praying for her sweet family in their highs and lows. isn't that the goodness of living life together? knowing one another when we are in our sunday's finest as well as sweat pants and unkempt hair?

i look over and see red lipstick on the littlest's cheek. what a fury our lives feel right now. moving so quickly, but i feel like the calm in the storm. and how is that possible? perhaps because i know the calm to my storm.

i recently heard myself say to a friend who was bemoaning his singleness, he observed, "i don't know what's wrong. i'm following all the rules." i added, "we follow the Leader, not the rules." and my heart breaks for him. a man in want of a wife. jane austen so eloquently wrote, "it's a truth universally known that a man in pursuit of a great fortune must be in want of a wife."

i see my blog feed and i realize that reading all of those perfect mommy mormom blogs are just a big fat waste of my time(and not good for my mind, body or spirit)so i make a big girl decision to stop reading them. time better spent doing something to make the real world a better place.

then my mind and thoughts swirl as i think about my father retiring from a company he built over 40 years ago. but as i remind him, "your grandsons see you in their skyline". his company help build the most famous of nashville buildings, the AT&T building aka the batman building. and every sunrise and every sunset, they see him.

it begins to rain and my house is full of boys(some who are mine some who are not) it swells with sounds and smells that you can only imagine. the dogs are inconsolable. i need a nap. but life keeps happening. and i keep slurping my coffee drink purchased (sort of)by a boy who asked his mom out on a date(sort of).

that's all i know for now. i'll keep you posted on what's next...

xo,

community does

2014-07-01T14:05:00.000-04:00

there it stands. so stately and intimidating. the davidson county courthouse. even as i drove over, i was a little shaky. this is where justice is served and often where {i think of} bad guys are sentenced for their wrong doings. but not today. not in this case.

today friends mandy and eric threw open the doors and allowed all who wished to witness this auspicious moment in their lives, the adoption of their daughter. it was breathtaking. i am forever changed.

and as i stood around those hallowed halls, laughing with friends, chatting, listening, i began to think. this is what community does. community...

waits in the wings til your name is called.

rocks and entertains chatty and sometimes fussy babies who are missing nap times.

rushes down to feed the meter.

gets shushed over and over again because they are carrying on too loudly for the other court rooms to actually carry on their proceedings.

weeps at the sight of your friends accepting the charge as parents.

and excitedly allows this to interrupt their previously scheduled whatevers.

because, well. it is worth it. showing up. to life and all it's highs and lows. this high will carry all of us for a good, long while.

congratulations, precious ones. and thank you for allowing all of us to see clearly this picture of how we are all lovingly sought after and adopted into God's family. sought and adopted.

see good,

xo gf

i know a guy

2014-06-15T08:53:00.000-04:00

i live on such a tight rope of hope. on the one hand i see the amazing hopefulness in overcoming what can seem like impossible odds. and on the other hand i can see the danger when the reality of walking said tight rope is realized. falling, failure, death.

but mostly i just hang out on the hope side. i can't help but. cause you see, i know a guy.

a guy who was not raised with a mother, but who is a most nurturing and affectionate father. i know a guy who never had the kind of dad who accompanied him to sporting events or even tossed the baseball with him, but who is poised to snap those once in a lifetime shots of his boys doing pretty cool stuff. never with a hint of bitterness. always with a sense of overwhelming humility and gratefulness. as he sees his boys surpass him in most ways.

this guy chides his boys when they take their mother for granted. he soothes them when they are hurting. he pushes them when they feel like giving up.

this guy balances perfectly the walk of encourager and enforcer. "you can do it" and "you're strong enough to keep going". "you're better than that" with "you are forgiven".

i know a guy. who constantly lives a life full to the brim. his every pore exudes servant leader. he is self effacing and the first one to tell you he's pretty great.

he was raised by hardworking stock. he is indeed that. he was raised to love books and thoughts and dialoguing on deep things into the wee hours of the night. he still does that. he was given a lifetime of solid life experiences with extended family, uncles and aunts and grandparents who were more like parents. he had it good considering.

i see so much of his boys in him. he can too. happy father's day to this guy, my guy, their guy.

xo,

O, Captain!

2014-05-30T09:56:00.001-04:00

dear teacher,

did you have any idea way back when that you were choosing one of the most overlooked, yet highly criticized professions? your wages are low, but your stakes are high. you're training the next generation of contributors. those who will care for you as you age out of your profession. what a weird juxtaposition.

you have no idea what the future holds for your students. you spend upwards of 9 months cajoling and applauding the lauds of your often thankless understudies. feeling like pulling out your hair, wrestling with exhaustion and frustration one moment and feeling like you have witnessed a miracle the next. i get it. it can feel like the most sacred and the most caustic of places at time. and every week day you rise to do it again. and again. with a willingness that is heroic.

thank you for standing in the gap for the under dog. thank you for challenging the scholar. and for all those middlers, those just getting by, thank you for pushing them, giving them just the extra push they need.

i appreciate all those days (were there ever not one of those days) when you skipped lunch because you were too engrossed in the business of schooling.

did you think i didn't see when you gave that hungry student food that you keep in your desk drawer? even spending your money to order pizza to celebrate classroom accomplishments.

and i know that your job as coach for the soccer team, the basketball team, the tennis team, the baseball team and the cross country team went unpaid. you did it because you saw a need, and you could fill it.

thank you for inviting me and my boy to serve the homeless all those times. your school day and sense of philanthropy extends well beyond the school walls. you inspire me. teaching to give back. even wayward middle school boys stand in awe of you.

tell your family thank you for all those late nights you spent grading papers. the lines between work and home are deeply blurred for you.

and for all those recommendations you wrote tongue in cheek. well, again you show that you know how to make even the wiliest of student sound compelling. you saw promise in an introverted scholar. and you pushed him to interview for an opportunity of a life time. when he was chosen, it was because of you as much as him.

remember when you emailed that new-to-school mom with praise on how her freshman in high school was acclimating? yeah. that was just what she needed to hear.

and you crazy teacher. when you have a weekend where are you? at cross country meets and football games and dragon boat races and going to dinner with your students, even attending birthday parties. you were invited because a certain 13 year old thinks you might have just hung the moon. and you inspired this boy to say, "i never knew i loved science til this year." that is powerful. do you ever take off those school colors? don't answer that. i know the answer.

this year you found yourself at the funeral of one of your students. your job is definitely not a traditional hours kind of thing. if you got paid over time, you would be wealthy, but you didn't go into teaching for the money.

every time i see a man or woman in uniform, i thank them for their service to our country. you deserve the same offering. yet, you walk around in disguise. o, how i wish those who served in schools wore some sort of badges, medals, or perhaps even crowns so that the rest of the world could stop you to thank you for your service to our country. no you don't go to war on behalf of our country. o, wait. you do.

you wage war on a crumbling system. you wage war on truancy and statistics. you fight for true learning not test scores. i heard you last night tell a room full of boys that the world would tell them they will not graduate from high school. that they will not succeed. you begged them to stay the course. i could hear your passion. you speak from a place that knows the odds these boys are up against. you know because you were there.

but you don't care about statistics. you care about the individual. and you work your ass off to make sure he knows you do even if he's too full of folly to know til he's older.

your rewards don't often come readily. much like a farmer you plant seeds with a pregnant postponed sense of gratification. but unlike a farmer it takes longer, much longer to see your harvest. and by the time the harvest comes, you're on to other fields for planting.

so the end of may is here. you've made it. another year in the books. you'll give yourself a few weeks to relax, and then you'll be back at it. lesson planning, inservice meetings, getting your room ready for next year's darlings who are sure to come in like lions and leave, well, like lions.

in case you didn't know, i see you. i appreciate you. i admire you. i trust you. and i think what you're doing or trying to do is worthy of an honorable mention. thank you for your service to our country.

fondly yours,
a mother

PSA

2014-05-29T09:20:00.001-04:00

i interrupt this regularly unscheduled blogpost for a public service announcement:

i heard the littlest, the last to wake, coming down the stairs. rather than stumble into the kitchen for his daily bowl of wheaties, he walked straight out the front door. i looked out the window in the kitchen and ran down the hall to grab my camera.

first he brought in the dogs who he was sure would bust his rhyme. then he proceeded to swing to his heart content.

as i watched him, i settled into a conversation i have had and will likely continue to have til the day i die. it's a conversation i have had with mostly with strangers. very ignorant strangers. and sadly a few mildly ignorant friends. it goes a little like this.

person: whew. all those boys. poor thing.
me: i love my life.
person: i'm so sorry you didn't have a girl.
me: i'm satisfied with the way things are.

similarly, i thought of all the conversations i have had with single friends, barren friends, adoptive friends and friends who do not wish to have children. all of them witnesses to the same kind of ridiculous comments from people who speak from a place of genuine unawareness assuming they have this whole "how to live the perfect life" thing figured out and wish to enlighten the rest of us with their probing questions.

i've never been asked, "are those your real children?" but i have been asked, "are all those boys yours? all those boys? you weren't blessed with a girl?" or "i'm sorry you missed out on having a girl-just for all the clothes." these questions and comments are always said in the presence of my four boys. and y'all, it needs to stop.

so if you or someone you know has all boys, or all girls or no kids, for the love of god, keep your comments to yourself.

i watched my youngest swing himself around barefoot. no wincing about the pine needles under his feet. no drama about what clothes to wear. he, along with his 3 older brothers, are easy going. adventurous, yes. inappropriate at times, duh. fun, usually always. they are polite and rowdy. they are gracious and rude. they are full of funny anecdotes(like fashioning a blow dart gun) and leave a trail of muddy footprints lest i need to find them. they.are.children. and that's what i signed up for when the desire for motherhood came calling, and i decided to answer. i didn't put in an order and when i opened the bag, wished i could send it back. my order was to mother. period. and had i not been able to conceive, i would have found another way. adoption, foster care, or working in an orphanage. there are ways to mother plenty in this world.

when i wished for children, i hoped to have ones who weren't complete jerks. the rest is gravy. and as work and providence had it, our boys are pretty delightful and ridiculously challenging. but this isn't because they are boys. it's because they are humans.

maya angelou once wrote, "if i have a monument in this world, it is my son. he is a joy, a sheer delight." and i agree. four times over.

xo,

thief of love

2014-05-23T17:39:00.001-04:00

there's a lie out there. a big one. and most of us have fallen for it hook. line. and sinker. and it has nearly sunk us. the lie is steeped in pride, wrapped in a false sense of self and bestowed as ingenuity. that lie is comparison.

Journal courtesy of my friend Kate. Find her at etsy.com/shop/littlethingsstudio

theodore roosevelt once said, "comparison is the thief of joy." who am i to argue with a man who could wrangle cattle and politicians? though i am dumbfounded that a man like this would have ever compared himself with anyone. i mean, to me he is the gold standard. still.

so there i sat one morning in the midst of all these beautiful faces. my women's bible study. to some it could be a hot bed for breeding comparison. all of the women are young, beautiful, accomplished, intelligent, sincere, lovely. goodness they are downright close to perfection, but they are also dedicated to getting to the bottom of what causes these rumors of jealous and comparison to spread.

i sat with them the other day, my older self. and said, "how can we stand to be jealous of one another when it benefits us all if one is doing well? if your kid makes the honor roll, i benefit because she is putting good out in the world. good that i get to experience being a dweller in the world. and i celebrate you getting that dream house because your family will benefit hence so will i." good begets good. light begets light. stop hating and start seeing.

when we stop being deceived and see that jealousy is nothing but an isolating lie that keeps up in perpetual distraction, we will recognize that when one of us is doing well, we all are doing well. excelsis deo.

but we forget to excelsis the deo. entitlement has swooped down to tell us that we are the masters of our rightful destinies. and when hardships come, we are wrought with a myriad of emotions including surprise, frustration and anger, but rarely compliance. and when good stuff does come, well, we keep waiting for the other shoe to drop and postpone our gratefulness. and those around us look into our lives and think, "if only i had a drop of that" whilst not seeing the glory that they are sitting in the midst of. whew.

the two little homeschoolers and i are working on memorizing isaiah 61. verse 6 reads:

instead of your shame you will have a double portion, and instead of humiliation they will shout for joy over their portion. therefore they will possess a double portion in their land. (and here's the pièce de résistance) everlasting joy will be theirs.

even my 7 year old gets that: everlasting joy will be theirs. and if we can instill that into the hearts of the little people we know. if we can gift them with that lasting truth over silly games and gadgets and fancy footwear and distracting devices, we might just gift ourselves as well. and what would happen if we all were a little less tethered to our trappings?

am i making sense to you? tap-tap-tap is this thing on? and by the way. i am preaching this to myself lest any of y'all think i got it figured out. just cause i know stuff doesn't mean i practice stuff. look at my 11 year old and his multiplication facts.

kate dicamillo refers to something as "a vicious cycle". in her book the tale of despereaux, we meet a character known as miggery sow. this tragic girl, named after her father's prized pig, was sold into slavery to a man known as uncle, who regularly gave her a "good clout to ears" rendering her deaf. and being that she could not hear, well, she got into trouble. a lot. getting herself even more "clouts to the ears". and so on. a vicious cycle. can you see how we live in the same kind of cycle?

so i leave you with this. don't compare your oranges to my lemons and i'll try to not compare my lemons to your oranges. o, and here is a check list cause we all love a good check list even if we don't think we do.
envy less.
celebrate more.
enjoy more.
compare less.
strive less.
slack more.
okay that might not be the best advice, but you get it.

now get out there and see good and enjoy when you see good in others.

xo,

playing cool

2014-05-21T10:06:00.002-04:00

the 15 year old called me out. recently he admonished, "you have forgotten what it's like being a teenager." and he's right seeing how i am quite far from the angst and debilitating insecurity that comes with the onset of puberty.

so i've been mulling over this admonishment. and the word angst has made its way into my vocabulary. i feel it. he feels it. we are on different sides, but we both feel it.

i've been dredging up the past and calling all those ghosts forth to sit and spin and remind me of what it was like to have my father embarrass me. to recall how it hurt my mom when i corrected her grammar. i've winced at flashbacks to fashion choices and hair styles. but i have really pontificated the delicate balance between burgeoning independence and profound sense of dependence. i've been sitting in the stress that plagued me when i wondered about AP exams and ACT prep. how humiliating were my scores. the future seemed so unknown.

i try to remember that, but when i see my boy sitting with his friends unaware that i am watching. i want to know what he is laughing about. but i do not walk over to his table in the cafeteria. i pause. and let him have his space. his space. i try to play it cool (not my strong suit. have you met me?!)like i remember doing once upon a time when i was a teenager. playing it cool, but now i am the mother not the kid. it's hard, y'all. when you want to skip over to the cute boy (who happens to be your kid) and say, "heeeey, jaaaaack. what's going on?" only to have him turn around, shake his head and quietly ask, "what are you doing hhhheeeeere?" (that happened once. i learned my lesson. from hence forth, i keep my distance when i am at his school. but somehow he still manages to find out whenever i am there.)

the other night we attended an awards ceremony for our first born. he was being recognized for many wonderful things. it was an exciting time for me his exuberant mother. he was incensed by me. the Mister was incensed by him. "i would have killed to have a mother like yours". i know he said this from a sincere place of love and not of one from flattery. but nevertheless as life would have it, the Mister didn't have a mother and our boy does. a mother with a camera. and a blog. and mother who wonders. a lot.

with the end of a school year upon us, we've been thinking a lot, the Mister and me about what our lives will look like in 3 short years when the oldest leaves high school and perhaps our home. the man i married can come off to some as being all business, but he is even more of softy than me when it comes to our lads. he often comments, "every day that i have all four of them under one roof is special." and i get it, but seeing how i have been with them almost every day of their entire lives, i feel a little less sentimental. i would be more prone to check the exhausted box.

so yesterday the freshman came home as he has everyday since the onset of his first year of high school, with a smile on his face. i met him at the door. how was your day? his response consistent as is his temperament, "good". i prodded, "what made it good?" silence. why did i need to know? isn't there some things that are just his? a mother doesn't have to crowd into rooms too small especially ones that are made for one.

there is so much truth that comes out of the mouths of babes. i think they are the last ones around who when asked will give you an honest answer. and i listen to my babes. and i try to hear them. really hear them.

i'll be thinking on that today. along with trying to remember what it was like being a teenager-in hopes that i do not mortify the kid when i show up at his school. i am, after all, his mother.

xo,

kick up some good

2014-05-18T14:23:00.000-04:00

last night i was driving home from the supermarket with a car load of food. i phoned the Mister to give him a heads up. we had had a full weekend of celebrating our oldest boy who turned 15 on saturday. we all ran in a local 5k that raises money to send african school children to school. we supped with our church family. we had a run in with fame when we tried to peruse our local children's book/toy store only to be told they were shooting an episode of celebrity wife swap "would we like to sign a waiver to be in the episode"? um. no thanks.

so i was driving home with groceries for the week. the mister said, "we got the nicest email from allison."

allison was one of the organizers/volunteers of the 5k. apparently our 7 year old had gained the attention of spectators who watched him run the 5k beating a lot of adults (including his mother) and then he turned around a ran the kids' fun run. he begged to keep running, but i had to cut him off after mile 4.

so the story goes, the mother of the visionary behind ellie's run for africa heard about george. someone blogged about it on her caring bridge site. for those of you who are unfamiliar with caring bridge, it's a blog site for those who are struggling with some kind of sickness. for barbara, ellie's mom, she has cancer. this is her 3rd run in with cancer. she's been given days to live. days.

i learned all of this after i logged on after the prompting of a few friends who had read the blog post and recognized our family.

humbled, honored, really there are no words to describe how i felt reading the words of the organizers who had seen our little circus-like family carrying on and had taken note. perhaps it was the 4 boys. or maybe it was the littlest who is tenacious in his endeavors. or maybe it was seeing the face-painted 11 year old who was dancing with the African drummers. whatever it was, the recognition made me pause.

i just be-bop through life, whistling and leading my little ducks in a row over hills and through streets and around bends without realizing that anyone else could possibly be noticing or even taking note. and yesterday, from the emails, i realized that sometimes we stand out. in a crowd. and it made me wonder.

how often do we forget that we should want to stand out. stand out for something that is bigger than ourselves. to be light bearers. surely light bearers get noticed. not in the "o, aren't they great" kind of way, but in the "i see" kind of way. image bearers don't draw attention to themselves. they draw attention to the one who's image they bear.

i write all of this with a profound sense of reticence. it was hilarious and deeply humbling that we garnered a blip on anyone's radar. but my boys are being reared to take risks, big risks. those are not my parenting tenets. i have been inspired by the biggest risk taker i know. and he didn't write a book on parenting and he didn't have a talk on TED.

here's the deal, we can assume that our little inconsequential decisions mean nothing. we can think nothing of acquiescing when the pestering child begs to run "both the 5k and fun run, mooooom." and then we read later that that delighted the heart of an ailing mother who took great pleasure in this feat. a mother who acquiesced when her 10 year old daughter decidedly chose to begin a fundraiser to send money to africa so that kids like her could attend school. and in the past 10 years, this darling girl with her ignited community has raised over a half a million dollars! so parents, friends, readers-acquiesce and see what happens when we say yes.

as i was thinking about whether or not to share this, i thought about how much i love checking facebook or instagram to see all the good that my friends and family are kicking up. some might see facebook, instagram, the twitter as a brag fest. i say bring it. brag. show off those darling photos. laud those graduations and accomplishments. heap on mounds of happiness and congratulations. wallow in the good. there is enough bad. there is enough darkness. there is more than enough cruelty. if you want to show off your child's ability to walk a tight rope, who am i to stop you. and you know what? you may just find that in doing so, it makes someone who you have never met laugh. and isn't that a good thing?

but don't stop there. don't be a good hoarder. once you've shared your good, go kick some up for others. pressure wash a neighbor's deck, jump on the trampoline with your kids, walk the dog, volunteer to drive soccer carpool, bake cookies for a friend's birthday. you get the picture. kick.up.some.good. you may never know the benefits. or you just may hear it brought joy to someone in her darkest hour.

xo,

little altars everywhere

2014-04-13T11:35:00.000-04:00

i'm full of wonder and incredulity. it's been one of those days that turns into a week that blinks into a month. and here i am. wondering how i made it to this date on the calendar. it's as if i exhaled and nearly 30 days passed. how is that possible?

this morning, our sunday morning ritual realized. some of us early risers. some of us not. i stood in my little sanctuary, my kitchen peering out the window. blinking out the bright sun and trying to decide if i should curtail the blinding light with cloth or keep the windows uncovered. this is where i go to worship most days, well really everyday. my kitchen sink is where i work through the weights and whiles of this world. praying and thinking and stewing and cursing and ultimately accepting.

i looked over at my hard working espresso maker spewing out my, ahem, second helping of the morning. and i thanked god for the delights of this black substance that brings me such joy.

cup in hand i walked out to the back porch, littered with dogs and unfinished art projects. praise to the maker, the creator of artistic means and ways.

walking passed my bookshelves covered from top to bottom with books most of which i have never read, but have collected in hopes that one day i will. o, those beautifully bound words deemed worthy to publish. praise the lord and pass the nonfiction.

the mister is up and out with two of our strapping gentlemen in pursuit of more lawn tools. a day of yard work awaits. the second day of what will likely be a summer long taming of the shrew and shrubs. wrestling creation back into submission as we kill off some bossy honeysuckle and threatening poison ivy-and teaching our boys to drive a riding lawn mower.

i see little altars all over my home. invitations to worship-not my stuff, but the creator of my stuff. i am reminded of this as i read a taped piece of paper not so neatly cut out that hangs over my sink. it reads: "for we know that if the tent, which is our earthly home, is destroyed, we have a building from god, a house not made with hands, eternal in the heavens. for in this tent we groan, longing to put on our heavenly dwelling".

the littlest pestered for food. i distractingly ran through a list of possible options. he chose my homemade apple bread over cold cereal. it may not be healing the blind, but it's close to a miracle.

i returned to the sink. more to see. more to do. more to work through. but mostly more to worship and enjoy. and it's only sunday. a week's worth of opportunity awaits.

i hope your sunday is full of such things. see good.

xo,

teen spirit

2014-03-15T10:01:00.000-04:00

the obligatory birthday post for a most unassuming fellow. in case you haven't met our second born son, allow me to introduce: charles keats.

he was born on the ides of march. ironically he is the most loyal of our bunch o' boys.

and quick witted with a vocabulary that can get him into a wee bit of trouble on occasion

this year marks his entrance into official teenager-hood though he's been climbing the fence or trying for years now. he's an old soul. his flare for walking to the beat of his own drum inspires me.

aside from the fact he's been a complete trooper when it's come to moving great distances, acclimating to new surroundings, taking one for the team over and over, he's an all around great boy. i'd want to be his friend even if he weren't my kid.

it's our family tradition to hold the 13th birthday in high esteem. a coming of age if you will. on this day, the celebrated chooses an adventure that is reflective of his interest and invites a few men to join along, men who have joined along in his journey to 13. our boy chose wisely. some men who have been with him since birth(or shortly thereafter) all the way up to one he just recently met, his sensational science teacher/soccer coach/cross country coach.

as i think through the last 365 days, adding up the many changes, subtracting the friends he's left, adding in the ones he's reconnected with and met, dividing up all the hours in his day where he is away from home(so much more than i would like)and multiplying all the ways he has flourished as a future man, i come away with a stunning sum.

god is faithful to hold this boy when i fail him. god is good to love this boy perfectly when i don't/can't. god is gracious to extend mercy when i am exacting. the one thing i know about this kid is that he is not an extension of his father or his mother-no child is really. he is indeed his own person. and that person is stunning.

happiest of days to our newly minted teenager. you finally made it. it's official!

and in case you lost count, i now share living quarters with two teenagers. two! lucky me.

yours ever so sincerely,

gf xo

Love and Basketball

2014-03-09T12:20:00.000-04:00

"no one can perfectly love god unless he gives up his affection for perishable things...our free will is never so free as when it is a slave to god's will, just as it is never so servile as when it serves our own will." francis de sales

i called my sister from the road. i was barely out of her driveway, but knew i needed her to pray for me. it seemed that my little less than 24 hour getaway was going to cost me.

you see when i called the mister to tell him i was on my way home, he said those words i have to come to learn are usually always loaded, "do you have a minute to talk?"

he proceeded to tell me that our darling 10 year old, the one who does the laundry every week for our family{save the 14 year old who insists on doing his own}tried to wash two, count them two sleeping bags-at the same time. want to guess what happened next? one word: toast. as in our washing machine is toast. burned. gone. wrecked.

it's not that i am tied to my 17 year old washing machine, the one we bought new when we bought our first house. i am sentimental, but i am also cheap. i don't like spending time or money on things that i shouldn't have to and this washing machine was supposed to last a few more years. operative word being supposed.

so here i was driving home, hung over, not from an alcoholic elixir, but from an emotional one. sister and i had stayed up into the wee hours of the morning talking about our shit, like anger and worthiness and love. and just like that i was being put to the test on all of mine.

fortunately i had a two hour buffer before meeting the boy who had slain my washing machine in the name of clean camping equipment. and i had my sister praying for me-and my potential volcano of burning hot anger that could level any community or tender shoot of a boy's soul.

praise be. upon my arrival home, there was barely enough time to make a cup a coffee{remember i only had a few hours sleep} before we were out the door to his basketball game. by that time, i had gained that little nugget of goodness called perspective.

my 3rd boy broke the washing machine. yes. but he did it trying to be helpful. he did it trying to be efficient. he did it because he was trying to serve me. he did it because he was trying to be independent. he did it because he felt comfortable with this gadget that he uses(or sometimes misuses)every monday/tuesday when he washing about 8 loads of laundry for our family.

my anger was gone. the clarity shown like that bright orb in the sky. i was able to see him and his motives and love him and not bowl him over with my need to vent. o, how often my frustration is taken out on my children. too often.

once we settled in on the bleachers, i watched as he played his best game ever. scoring two points. the most ever{this is his first try at basketball. the jury is still out if he'll really take to it}. and i wondered. what would have happened had i not had those two hours to pray and think? what if i had fallen into my old way of allowing my anger to spew onto my kid? would he have played as well? would he have been as confident on the basketball court? would he have had his head in the game? and hear me say, it's not about basketball. it's about life. basketball was just the example i was able to observe.

the day passed and no one mentioned the incident-that-happened-when-mom-was-away-for-19-hours. the mister was off with two of our boys, all day soccer tournaments. by the time 10 pm rolled around, and we were all under the same roof, the washing machine was the LAST thing i wanted to talk about. the mister sweetly kissed me good night and said, "hey, how about you and i go pick out a new washing machine tomorrow?" and another light went off.

then it really dawned on me: nobody had brought up the incident. was this because i hadn't? how often does my anger spread like a wildfire? i fuss at a boy, who either later spews his anger on another brother or becomes the target for more ridicule. o, goodness. how have i been so dense to see how malicious my sin is? up until this morning, i had the notion that my anger was more like a "white knuckle it and pray til it goes away" kind of problem rather than a "pervasive and widespread" one. i always thought i would perhaps see the anger in my sons as fathers, but didn't see it as clearly in the here and now as they are still little sons. and towards their brothers. ah. ha.

perhaps that's why i've had to scold the self righteous oldest boy or calm the tumultuous 10 year old, try to redirect the sometimes over reactionary 7 year old and soothe the 12 year old. gracious me. i am not too quick on the uptake, peeps.

this morning i snuggled in bed reading one of the 4 books i have going. the beginning de sales quote sparkled even more brightly. how often have i allowed perishable things override the eternal? how often has urgent robbed eternity? too often. and here's the thing. i am not even that captivated with perishable stuff. look at my house all filled with my secondhand finds. blood and chocolate strewn about like the pattern of a thrifted kilim rug. our once white walls now bear the fingerprints of our kids and others who frequent our little cottage-in-the-hood. geez.

so my take away on this day, the first day of more daylight, how apropos: perspective can override anger-when you have two hours to think.

just trying to figure it out.

xo,

as a follow up: in case you were wondering how we eventually addressed the broken washing machine with the boy. he accompanied his father to pick out a new one. seemed like a fitting punishment especially seeing how he'll be using it for a few more years-i hope!

#seegood

2014-02-25T11:52:00.002-05:00

the more i try to figure stuff out, the more muddled it all gets. take this blog for instance. whatthehellamidoing? would the responsible adult please stand up? crickets chirp.

i was writing to a friend today catching her up on our life in the wild ass monkey house.

i auditioned for a reading part this past weekend. two words: lead. balloon. good thing i don't take my writing seriously cause if that was all i had going for me, well, i'd have to find a new dog and pony show.

i wrote to her about the boys and their particularly pertinent places in their lives right now. one is moving about life at an alarmingly great clip, one is getting his ass handed to him-every day. one is forgetting the difference between solving for pi and solving for area. one still wants to be cradled like a bebe. lawd have mercy. it's a rocky ship over here, dear ones. and i am feeling very seasick.

yesterday, i met with one of my boys' teachers. i passed her in the hall. a casual meet up. she asked, "how are you doing?" i said, "okay. not great. just okay." she mentioned that our boy had written her a note that said, "i am trying to do the right thing, but sometimes i want to explode." she was very touched with his honesty. i am grateful he has a confidant in his teachers as well as his coaches.

it's a rocky road, sweet ones. never promised to be lined with pine needles and lavender the way i would want. but so filled with promise. i've started my own #seegood campaign to combat all of the #~~shit~~ brokenness. i go about seeing good and documenting it, noting it to myself and instagram. i am reminded when i watch one of my boys play basketball (play is open to interpretation) with his teammates. there is so much wasted opportunity. the kids fight. the coach is practically blind (literally). the sportsmanship is toxic. it's been a giant waste of time. or has it?

when the boy comes to us and says, "b threw a ball at t and really hurt her all because he got angry." and we say, "b is not the enemy. he is looking for boundaries. but he is not the enemy."

or when another boy says he is being made fun of and the mister very perceptively says, "those boys are angry. they need to hit a reset button before they are on a path that leads to prison."

we talk through words like fuck {ewwwww} and locker room etiquette {ewwwww}. the mister is even more leery of what goes on when there are no adults around to observe the tomfoolery. he reminded the boy, "you have one enemy. keep your eyes open. you are not these boys' parent. you are not there to parent them. you are not there to set them straight. you are at school to learn. but keep your eyes open. getting angry and fighting only tells the boys they have control over your emotions. and they don't. you are not being bullied. you are being abused. take it out into the light. confront them firmly in front of a teacher. don't go to the teacher. go to the kid-in front of the teacher. and use their words back at them. if they call you 'f-hole' again. go in front of the teacher and say, 'stop calling me 'fuck hole'."

i am reminded of how out of control life can feel when i am driving a carload of middle schoolers. they ask me questions like, "why are some kids so mean?" and i reply honestly, "because they do not know they are loved, really loved. if you feel love, you are compelled to show that love (kindness) to others." like begets like.

that's my story and i'm sticking to it. and yesterday as i drove, these precious boys chatted for an hour NONSTOP about how much they hated their fathers, hated their sisters, hated their brothers. they autocorrected one another. "bro, don't be so negative. that's not good to hate. the bible says to love and stuff." i sat as quiet as a leaf as they bantered. i was in a sacred spot. i only spoke when i was spoken to. but i listened intently. so much hurt. so much trust. so much hope.

my boy's favorite school chum confessed, "i felt abandoned when i found out my stepfather wasn't my real father, like i had been tricked. but my stepfather is the only father i have known so he is like my real father. is that possible, mrs. utley?" yes, darling boy. that is possible.

another said he has 11 sisters. i joked, "goodness what is THAT like?" he says, "i have no idea. you gotta blame my father. he's the one who is responsible." come to find out those 11 girls live in mexico-and have never met the little brother they have. the one who was riding in my car.

so muddled and full of hope and sincerely trying to #seegood all the while engaging this wonderful, wacky world around me.

before i forget, how are things in your neck of the woods? i hope you are hearing a lot less f-words. sorry. just reporting the news. and if you step outside your door for more than five minutes, it's likely you are seeing and hearing things as unsavory.

but in case you didn't know-you are loved! like ridiculously so. more than you can ever imagine. by a creator who is so taken with you that he gave you your own fingerprint and personality {swear words and all}. so go get 'em tiger. risk big. love bigger. and never stop doing stuff that seems hilarious and uncomfortable. you'll be better for it. swing for the fence, sweetums.

be still

2014-01-22T12:02:00.002-05:00

it was a morning much like all mornings. late starts. groggy mama. roaming boys. only on this morning the lure of a new trampoline and a sky filled with snowflakes called to boys. and a hot, freshly made cappuccino called to mama. so i went with it.

the littlest bundled on two pairs of pants and thick socks, two sweaters and a sleeping bag. out they went for an early morning romp. i compromised, "p.e. came early." that is my excuse for our late school starts. and in reality sitting down to the table at 9:45 isn't going to kill anyone, right?

i was about to launch into reading history when i closed the book and said, "boys, what is the most important thing we can do all day?" in unison they answered, "pray". and so we did. only this time i told them, "today we are going to do something a little bit different. let's spend 1 minute saying aloud adjectives that describe god." i went on, "there is no method to this. just say a word. we are not going in order. for 60 seconds let's just close our eyes and remind ourselves who god is by describing him aloud. i'll start. powerful." the 10 year old chimed in "merciful". silence. the 10 year, feeling his part as older brother offered his younger brother in a loud whisper, "strong". so the littlest added louder as if it was his idea, "strong." feeling the unspoken rhythm i said, "love". the ten year old said, "powerful". silence. clearly the 7 year old was now accustomed to his older brother helping so he must've been waiting for another prompt. "all knowing", helped the 10 year old through a loud whisper. "all knowing!" raised the 7 year old.

and for 60 seconds we went around the table, eyes shut-i think, i never opened mine, but could hear the swill of hot chocolate sips and slurps in between words. it was the sweetest, most sacred time of prayer i have ever had with these little boys. hearing the 10 year old. his words so telling of how he sees his creator. the 7 year old speechless, but willing to take a lead from his older brother. and follow.

it is rare, rare that my hurried personality senses an urgency to slow down, for stillness but i have sensed for going on a year now an urgency, neigh, necessity to slow down. it began before we moved back to tennessee when i was anticipating this school year with its many changes. i knew that i needed to keep life simple. and i willingly obeyed that prompting. not committing my boys to too much. recognizing that less is more in the way of curriculum. honing their strengths and working methodically and slowly on their weaknesses. deciding that art class was the way to draw out their inner scholar. finding time for running club, basketball and swimming were the way to inspire deeper understanding of mathematics and reading. deciding much to my discomfort that reading, spelling, history and math with a gentle nod to science and grammar were the full scope and sequence of our school year, leaving out latin, rote memorization, and my love, writing. i tabled those. for now.

everyday as i sit to teach i say something that i dare say no other school teacher has ever spoken to her students which is: i don't care if you don't learn a thing except to know that you are loved by an eternal, loving, true god. if you know this and if you love him, that is all that matters in this life. and you know what. that is my veritas. i don't care where they go to college. i care about where they spend eternity.

in the late afternoon amid the folded clothes on my bed, the 7 year old came to lie down beside me as i read the news. he chatted to me as i scanned the screen. i said what i say to him about a million times a day which is, "i really like you. and i love you. you are my best friend." and he said back, "i like you. and i love you. but my best friend is...you know." i began rattling off names of whom i thought it could be, his best friend. then he cut to the chase and said, "god". and my heart was glad. "i hope he always is."

so the next morning after the Mister left for work and in response to the frigid temperatures, i called the boys back to my bedroom, the warmest room in the house. "let's just read and pray back here since it's so cozy." the boys got situated under blankets and after what felt like an eternity of reminding them that nestling into bed isn't license to become rowdy, we read scripture. the familiar passage elicited a chorus of little voices who had somewhat memorized this particular set of scripture. when it came time to pray, i reminded them of what we did yesterday. "so today we are going to spend a minute calling out the many names of god." i went through the list many taught to me from amy grant and sandy patti songs. then we began, "savior". "lord". "mate". i thought about the boy who called "mate". and when i couldn't contain my emotion, i burst out laughing. yes, god is our mate, thinking he meant husband, but no. "he's my mate-like friend." ahhhhh. then we began back. "messiah". "judge". "life boat." clearly this boy sees god in a way that is pure and real, but when he called out, "brother from another mother" i chided, "okay, i think we're done here. our minute is up."

here's to finding an urgency to be still. had i not listened and obeyed, i would have missed these magnificent moments. how many of these have been squandered by the tyranny of the urgent. o, i am so ashamed. but there is hope to change. i will take it, the invitation to change. and find the blessing in what i've got left. may you find it and be delighted.

xo,

grit and bear it

2014-01-20T09:18:00.000-05:00

i could see him. traipsing through the yard. with a ladder. i would be remiss if i didn't mention how i muttered, "o, good lord" under my breath or maybe it was rather audible as the sound prompted the Mister to ask, "what is it?" i nodded out the window to a group of boys who were gathering around a tree. i couldn't make out what was going on but from the looks of it the crepe myrtle was about to be scaled by the likes of two of wild ass monkey's finest: the 7 year old and the 10 year old. the 12 year old stood beside the ladder to steady the harrowing climb and to serve as wing man with an extra long pole in his hand. and then i spotted it. in the tippiest top of the tree was the 10 year old's latest procured aerobie that he just last night had spent his 10$ on at the adventure store aka REI.

now stop. in this story, i could have 1) ran out to stop him from making what was a risky climb which could result in a fall that could potentially mean a broken something or 2) i could watch (and maybe pray) to see how he worked out this scenario. want to guess which one i did?

i feel with my entire being that allowing children to risk and struggle is profoundly good (and ridiculously hard) and completely necessary. it produces grit. and grit chisels character. the lines run deep. the end result is stunning. but not without consequences. however, the consequences of not standing back and letting children risk, fall, fail are much more damaging than a trip to the e.r. and much more insidious. i would rather a bone need mending than to see one of my sons being crippled with fear-fear of failure, fear of intimacy, fear of success-you name it. better to have stitches than to have gaping holes of character flaws that result in too much navel gazing, hand wringing, waffling and what ifs. the purpose of parenting is to prepare our children for this wild world not to enable them from engaging it.

the 12 year old lifted the pole he had fashioned with his brothers. pvc pipes taped together, 3 in total that they estimated would just reach that taunting orange circle. i stood at the sink. the Mister stood in the driveway and watched as three of our boys worked together like a team of mules in synch. i held my breath as the 10 year old climbed higher and higher. and just like that with the help of his brothers and a jury rigged pole, he knocked his hard earned toy free from the snares of the branches. the Mister looked up at the kitchen window to see if i had seen. i had. and i ran outside to holler, "way to go!" and just like that they resumed their game until it was time to assemble the trampoline.

this lesson is one that i must practice daily like when the 14 year old came home from school at 4:00 and wished to walk back to school to watch a basketball game that lasted until 9 at night-by himself. or when the 7 and 10 year old joined their 12 and 14 year old friends for a bike ride to the nearby ice cream parlor. or standing by when the 12 year old has to decide to stand for truth and goodness when he could easily be bitter or dishonest. even recalling these recent events makes my mama's heart wince. it's so hard, but then i see the consequences.

the 14 year old enjoyed his night out alone with his friends. the 7 year old and 10 year old are maturing and learning to handle themselves in ways that i could only hope. and the 12 year old. o, that boy. he grows more tender and loving towards me as he grows more rugged and courageous towards life.

i do not have this mothering thing figured out. i never will. just when we get in a new groove, life steps in and reminds me that i am working with organic beings who are constantly changing. and so must i.

xo,

post script: a few hours after the boy rescued his toy from the tree's taunting branches, it landed in an even higher branch far, far out of the reach of ladder or climber made by the bravest. so like the movies, feats must be rated. parental discretion is advised.