We landed in San Diego at about 3:30 Pacific Time, Wednesday October 13th.
As we taxied to the terminal I saw it.
MCRD - Marine Corps Recruit Depot - the place where Blake had spent most of the 13 weeks that comprise boot camp.
Lots of yellow buildings with red roofs.
And in one of those buildings - or around it, at least - my boy was probably hearing our plane land.
How strange it was, to be yards away from his temporary home and yet be unable to see him until the next day.
How odd to catch a shuttle to our hotel, meet up with my in-laws, eat an amazing Mexican dinner and walk around Old Town without him, knowing that he was just a few minutes away by car.
I was a six-year-old on Christmas eve; wondering if sleep would ever come - if the magic of that long awaited gift would ever arrive.
On Thursday morning we all loaded into a shuttle bus and took a quick ride to the Depot where we would wait around for our sons to do their final run - The Moto (motivational) Run.
As we mingled around the parking lot waiting for instructions - but being careful NOT TO STEP ON THE PARADE DECK!!! (for we all had been told in no uncertain terms to stay off that hallowed ground) we noticed a platoon drilling on said parade deck.
Well, that was something we all wanted to see - a platoon of new Marines drilling in their Service Utilities (cammies)before their moto run. But I noticed something extremely exciting for our family. I noticed the Platoon flag.
2108.
It was Blake's platoon.
And they were marching right toward us.
I began snapping photos (which I will post later) as they got closer and closer.
And then I stopped snapping because I didn't want to take any chance of missing my son's face.
Here is where I will make a confession. I did not easily recognize my son while he was in formation. Throughout the whole weekend, from a distance, I could not pick him out of the line up. Because when the Marines say they make everybody the same, they mean it.
So as they march past me, my mind quickly went through a checklist of what I needed to look for:
I knew he was Caucasian.
I knew what little hair was visible would be red.
I knew he was about 5'11".
And then it clicked: GLASSES!!! He's wearing glasses - contacts aren't allowed at boot camp.
And that realization saved me for out of 76 platoon mates only about 15 were wearing 'port holes' (the nickname given to military eye wear because they are so large) They are also known as BCGs or Birth Control Glasses because they are NOT attractive. But they are UNBREAKABLE. Blake said they proved this because one recruit spent an evening trying to break his and they simply. would. not. break.
Anyway, my boy marched right past me - mere inches from me. He did not look at me but I saw him.
"I saw him!" "I saw him!" I continued to whisper to my family (for there's something about being around a drilling platoon that brings on a reverent feeling), as my hands went to my face to cover the ugly cry.
{It was kind of like that day some 19 years ago when I was lying in an operating room saying "it's a boy! It's a boy!" after a c-section.}
And a gentleman who had ridden the shuttle with us walked over to me and said "you saw your son, didn't you? I could tell by your face. I'm happy for you." His boy was in another platoon and he would have to wait a while longer to see his new Marine.
But that's what the whole weekend was - just families and loved ones who were starving for the sights and sounds of our boys - pulling for each other - allowing others' happiness to be our happiness for the time being.
Next up? The Moto run. Seeing my Marine in his PT clothing is when I realized just how huge he'd become (well, huge compared to when he left) The Marines had taken a drinking straw and turned him into a tree trunk simply by adding 25 pounds of new muscle.
Wednesday, October 20, 2010
Tuesday, October 19, 2010
Sunday, October 17, 2010
WHAT'S MISSING
Last night, after a wonderful but exhausting four days in San Diego, I crawled into my own bed thinking I'd sleep like a rock.
We were home. My children were home.
And I had finally placed my travel weary and worry torn heart into my favorite resting place - my bed.
And yet, I lay there for a while unable to sleep.
My body felt like it was made of jell-o. My eyes were scratchy and raw from fatigue.
And yet sleep wouldn't come.
I had reached the point where I'd become too tired to sleep and I hate that feeling.
So I lay there and asked myself what was wrong and all I could think of was that something was missing.
Something was missing? How could that be? I was in my bed, my head on my own pillow, listening to the hum of my fan - my family all in the house - and I couldn't sleep? Something was missing?
And then it hit me. Worry. Worry was missing.
The worry.
I was lying there waiting for worry to make it's nightly visit into my heart.
Only this time it wasn't going to come.
It's not that I wanted it to come; it's just that it had become such a part of my life for 13 weeks that I had taught myself to lie awake and wait for it. Because night time was when it opened the door and crept in. Always. Always at night when the lights were out and the house was quiet, I'd stare at the ceiling and think of my boy.
And now it is gone - that worry.
For now.
I left it at the curb outside the St. Louis airport as soon as our son climbed into the van.
I know it will return.
It will return when he leaves for combat training and then again when he leaves for his job school. And then again when he is with the fleet. And then again, with horrible force, when he is deployed (for we've been told to prepare ourselves for a deployment).
It will return when my daughter leaves for college.
But for now?
Now it will sit on that curb in St. Louis and I will refuse to pick it up while my boy is home.
And when I realized all of that I closed my eyes and slept with a peace that had, for a few months, been unknown to my heart.
We were home. My children were home.
And I had finally placed my travel weary and worry torn heart into my favorite resting place - my bed.
And yet, I lay there for a while unable to sleep.
My body felt like it was made of jell-o. My eyes were scratchy and raw from fatigue.
And yet sleep wouldn't come.
I had reached the point where I'd become too tired to sleep and I hate that feeling.
So I lay there and asked myself what was wrong and all I could think of was that something was missing.
Something was missing? How could that be? I was in my bed, my head on my own pillow, listening to the hum of my fan - my family all in the house - and I couldn't sleep? Something was missing?
And then it hit me. Worry. Worry was missing.
The worry.
I was lying there waiting for worry to make it's nightly visit into my heart.
Only this time it wasn't going to come.
It's not that I wanted it to come; it's just that it had become such a part of my life for 13 weeks that I had taught myself to lie awake and wait for it. Because night time was when it opened the door and crept in. Always. Always at night when the lights were out and the house was quiet, I'd stare at the ceiling and think of my boy.
And now it is gone - that worry.
For now.
I left it at the curb outside the St. Louis airport as soon as our son climbed into the van.
I know it will return.
It will return when he leaves for combat training and then again when he leaves for his job school. And then again when he is with the fleet. And then again, with horrible force, when he is deployed (for we've been told to prepare ourselves for a deployment).
It will return when my daughter leaves for college.
But for now?
Now it will sit on that curb in St. Louis and I will refuse to pick it up while my boy is home.
And when I realized all of that I closed my eyes and slept with a peace that had, for a few months, been unknown to my heart.
Friday, October 15, 2010
Tuesday, October 05, 2010
TEST
My son has started his final test. As we slept in the wee hours of this morning, he started out on his journey to conquer The Crucible.
Oh to be so close to a goal and have to push ones body and spirit beyond its limits to achieve it.
But achieve it, they will - with God's hand upon them.
Please Thursday. Come quickly. Come quickly so that I will know my son is safe and proudly wearing his first EGA pin.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tRcxqwtUNNE
Oh to be so close to a goal and have to push ones body and spirit beyond its limits to achieve it.
But achieve it, they will - with God's hand upon them.
Please Thursday. Come quickly. Come quickly so that I will know my son is safe and proudly wearing his first EGA pin.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tRcxqwtUNNE
Sunday, October 03, 2010
LIGHT
Somewhere out on the West Coast is a group of Navy chaplains who work daily to reach through the dirt and grime of boot camp and shine a light of hope, goodness, encouragement, and - well, CHRIST - into the hearts of hundreds of Marine recruits.
And one or more of those chaplains did just that with my son.
We received word yesterday that our son had been baptized during weekly worship services last Sunday.
We did not get to witness this milestone event; but that is what military life is like. We will never meet these particular men who have made it their life's work to lift up young men and women who are in the midst of a hugely difficult time in their own lives.
But that is OK.
Because my son is now my brother.
And the journey before him will be an amazing one - for so many reasons.
And one or more of those chaplains did just that with my son.
We received word yesterday that our son had been baptized during weekly worship services last Sunday.
We did not get to witness this milestone event; but that is what military life is like. We will never meet these particular men who have made it their life's work to lift up young men and women who are in the midst of a hugely difficult time in their own lives.
But that is OK.
Because my son is now my brother.
And the journey before him will be an amazing one - for so many reasons.
Friday, October 01, 2010
FINALLY
We've been waiting weeks to see this video. Let's see if I can lead you to it.
www.devildogs.info
2nd Batallion - Echo company - Platoon 2108.
Third row from the top - third from right. He's the handsome sunburned red head.
And he's two weeks from being a Marine.
And my heart is leaking out of my eyes.
www.devildogs.info
2nd Batallion - Echo company - Platoon 2108.
Third row from the top - third from right. He's the handsome sunburned red head.
And he's two weeks from being a Marine.
And my heart is leaking out of my eyes.
Wednesday, September 29, 2010
RECRUIT PRAYER
I have found a recruit parent forum that I view a couple times a week. It is for all Marine recruit parents but is broken down very specifically by training base, company, platoon, graduation date, every imaginable category. The parents of platoon 2108 (Blake's platoon) have started a prayer thread for our boys as they enter their final phase of training.
I post mine here, not to lift myself up as anything more than a mother who misses her son and wants desperately to see him; but merely to record it for Blake.
*************************************************
Father, thank you for seeing our sons through this journey so far. We ask your healing hand upon those who are injured in body or in spirit.
Please, Father, surround our sons, Your children, with your angels of love and protection as they enter this final phase. Give them wings of eagles so that they may soar and conquer their final tasks. Protect them from injury as they move through The Crucible.
Thank you father for each one of these young men who has chosen this selfless and sacrificial path in life. Thank you for each mother, father, wife, brother, sister and other loved one who is keeping each one of these boys lifted up as he meets his goal.
Lord, thank you for the men who have trained our boys to be members of this mightiest military force in the world.
Thank you, Lord, for the chaplains who somehow reach through the dirt and grime of boot camp and shine a light - YOUR LIGHT - into our sons' hearts. Because, Lord, my son is one of those who has been reached and has chosen to be baptized in Your name. And for that Dear Father, I am eternally grateful.
Lord, I pray for safe travel for the hundreds of families who will be crossing this nation to finally see our sons. Please allow us all to return safely to our homes and embrace our children for even a brief time.
Lord you have sustained us. You will continue to sustain us and our sons. And for this I praise You and thank You.
*****************
My sweet best friend J sent me some much needed words of encouragement one day and reminded me that Blake would be soaring like an Eagle. And so I keep that image in my mind as I think of him nearing his goal. Thank you Jnet.
Two weeks from today we will board a plane and head to San Diego. We will arrive that evening but not be able to see our son until the next day. Oh, the agony of being less than two miles from our child and not hold his face in my hands.....but we are getting close.
Praise God in Heaven....we are almost there.
I post mine here, not to lift myself up as anything more than a mother who misses her son and wants desperately to see him; but merely to record it for Blake.
*************************************************
Father, thank you for seeing our sons through this journey so far. We ask your healing hand upon those who are injured in body or in spirit.
Please, Father, surround our sons, Your children, with your angels of love and protection as they enter this final phase. Give them wings of eagles so that they may soar and conquer their final tasks. Protect them from injury as they move through The Crucible.
Thank you father for each one of these young men who has chosen this selfless and sacrificial path in life. Thank you for each mother, father, wife, brother, sister and other loved one who is keeping each one of these boys lifted up as he meets his goal.
Lord, thank you for the men who have trained our boys to be members of this mightiest military force in the world.
Thank you, Lord, for the chaplains who somehow reach through the dirt and grime of boot camp and shine a light - YOUR LIGHT - into our sons' hearts. Because, Lord, my son is one of those who has been reached and has chosen to be baptized in Your name. And for that Dear Father, I am eternally grateful.
Lord, I pray for safe travel for the hundreds of families who will be crossing this nation to finally see our sons. Please allow us all to return safely to our homes and embrace our children for even a brief time.
Lord you have sustained us. You will continue to sustain us and our sons. And for this I praise You and thank You.
*****************
My sweet best friend J sent me some much needed words of encouragement one day and reminded me that Blake would be soaring like an Eagle. And so I keep that image in my mind as I think of him nearing his goal. Thank you Jnet.
Two weeks from today we will board a plane and head to San Diego. We will arrive that evening but not be able to see our son until the next day. Oh, the agony of being less than two miles from our child and not hold his face in my hands.....but we are getting close.
Praise God in Heaven....we are almost there.
Saturday, September 25, 2010
DREAM
For the past ten weeks, I've had a lot of dreams about baby boys. I wouldn't call these dreams disturbing but, like most dreams, they have been bizarre.
One night my dream was about me buckling a baby boy into a car seat and I looked away for one moment. When I looked back, the baby boy was gone but I continued to buckle an empty car seat.
Dreams about a baby boy simply not being there any more. These dreams have not left me fearful; but rather resigned. Resigned that my baby has gone and left in his place a man.
But early this morning? In those moments where I had awakened once but slipped back into that wonderful Saturday morning doze? I had the sweetest dream of my boy.
We were seeing each other for the first time since he left for boot camp.
He was in his dress blues and he was kissing my cheek.
And it was HIS face; not some abstract, non-face that appears in many dreams.
It was my boy's face.
And his arms around me, hugging me tight.
And in the back of my not-quite-awake-yet-not-fully-asleep mind, I was telling myself.
Don't wake up. Don't wake up. Stay asleep and this feeling will last a little longer.
But of course I woke up.
And I lay in bed and basked in that sweetest of dreams - a dream of my boy - now a man who is just a hair's width away from achieving HIS dream.
And I looked at the calendar and was reminded that we are less than three weeks from seeing him. Less than three weeks from seeing our son become a Marine.
And then I walked to the mailbox and opened another sweet letter.
But still, I want to close my eyes for just a moment and picture him in that uniform, feel those arms around me and imagine that boy kissing his mama's cheek.
Sweet dreams indeed.
One night my dream was about me buckling a baby boy into a car seat and I looked away for one moment. When I looked back, the baby boy was gone but I continued to buckle an empty car seat.
Dreams about a baby boy simply not being there any more. These dreams have not left me fearful; but rather resigned. Resigned that my baby has gone and left in his place a man.
But early this morning? In those moments where I had awakened once but slipped back into that wonderful Saturday morning doze? I had the sweetest dream of my boy.
We were seeing each other for the first time since he left for boot camp.
He was in his dress blues and he was kissing my cheek.
And it was HIS face; not some abstract, non-face that appears in many dreams.
It was my boy's face.
And his arms around me, hugging me tight.
And in the back of my not-quite-awake-yet-not-fully-asleep mind, I was telling myself.
Don't wake up. Don't wake up. Stay asleep and this feeling will last a little longer.
But of course I woke up.
And I lay in bed and basked in that sweetest of dreams - a dream of my boy - now a man who is just a hair's width away from achieving HIS dream.
And I looked at the calendar and was reminded that we are less than three weeks from seeing him. Less than three weeks from seeing our son become a Marine.
And then I walked to the mailbox and opened another sweet letter.
But still, I want to close my eyes for just a moment and picture him in that uniform, feel those arms around me and imagine that boy kissing his mama's cheek.
Sweet dreams indeed.
Monday, September 20, 2010
I CAN'T BELIEVE I'M DOING THIS
My mom sends me lots of e-mail forwards. Most of them are at least slightly humorous, if not worth saving.
The one I received today is just so disturbing I have struggled with my conscience about whether to even create a post about it.
But I finally decided it is going to have such an impact on my life (and probably yours) that I simply had to step outside my comfort zone and post it:
Ladies and gentlemen, please forgive me:
The one I received today is just so disturbing I have struggled with my conscience about whether to even create a post about it.
But I finally decided it is going to have such an impact on my life (and probably yours) that I simply had to step outside my comfort zone and post it:
Ladies and gentlemen, please forgive me:
Yes, this woman is at the grocery store without a blouse. And without a bra.
But apparently that is no problem since her breasts fit quite nicely into the waist band of her stretch pants.
I just...
I mean....
wha....
My eyes!! My eyes!! Please, God in Heaven, strike me blind NOW!
When I am not dreaming of pouring bleach into my eyes, the questions simply will not stop swirling around my now permanently scarred brain.
First off; Why? In the name of all that is good and holy WHY? Did this poor woman not have ONE top? NOT. ONE. TOP?
Should we be at all concerned that she's shopping for chicken breasts while hers are tucked into her waist band? What's that about?
Does this super market have no greeter? Because surely anybody with any sense (and hopes of ever sleeping again) would have called security. "Uh...yeah...Barney, we have a situation here. Please bring a blanket."
*And an ice pic so I can gouge my own eyes out.*
Was there not one person who encountered this woman and thought, "hmmm, she has no shirt on. I think I'll try to cover her up?"
And finally, where can I buy the best, most supportive bra EVER?
Because I think I want to take some pre-emptive measures for when I actually lose my last two functioning brain cells....
And now, loyal readers, good luck erasing this image from your brain.
Thursday, September 16, 2010
MORE BLOG POSTS, PLEASE
I've had a couple of people ask me why I have not blogged a lot lately.
And those couple of people happen to be my daughter and her friend, so I should say a couple of IMPORTANT people.
And as with any question posed to me, I've given this one much deep thought and consideration.
*Thinking....thinking....thinking.....tapping chin with finger....*
And this is what I've come up with: while it's true that I ran into a little bit of writer's block a few months ago, now I think my problem is TOO MUCH writing.
First I will blame Facebook, and I intend to get off facebook when my son comes home from boot camp. I returned to it when he left so that I could give near daily posts and ask for prayers and good thoughts on his behalf. Oh and to put some cute pictures of my daughter out there too.
Plus I do like the facebook community; well most of it. There are things about it that I don't care for but I won't get into that now.
I do believe the whole facebook thing is worthy of its own post. After all there is even a movie coming out about it. But I'll move on.
I think the real reason behind my lack of blogging lately is that I write a letter to my son every night. And by the time I've typed no fewer than two pages to my recruit, filling him in on all the family tidbits and small town news, I'm just tired of typing.
And tired of thinking.
But.
If my daughter enjoys my blog enough to ask "did you blog today?" then I should be flattered and try harder to put something out there for her.
I did, after all, start this blog as a legacy for my kids. And I must say I've been validated by both of them regarding my efforts at that. First with Kayla asking me about my posts, and second with a letter from Blake when he told me he felt like my letters to him were the same as reading one of my blog posts written just for him. That was when he assured me that he had indeed read every single post while at home; he just never let me know it.
So, where am I going with all of this?
Um....I have absolutely no idea.
I guess I'm going in the direction of trying harder to record a few words on here as often as I can - for my kids.
And I'm going to do just that when I am done helping with the homecoming float, preparing for the homecoming dance, presenting art lessons to 100 first graders, juggling various appointments, enjoying fall softball games, traveling to San Diego, putting my heart back into my chest after watching my son graduate, planning and hosting a welcome home/graduation open house for 100 family and friends, stuffing my son with homemade desserts and suppers for 10 days, telling him good bye again and putting my heart back into my chest yet again after that good bye.
So yeah. More blog posts are on the horizon.
In my free time.
And those couple of people happen to be my daughter and her friend, so I should say a couple of IMPORTANT people.
And as with any question posed to me, I've given this one much deep thought and consideration.
*Thinking....thinking....thinking.....tapping chin with finger....*
And this is what I've come up with: while it's true that I ran into a little bit of writer's block a few months ago, now I think my problem is TOO MUCH writing.
First I will blame Facebook, and I intend to get off facebook when my son comes home from boot camp. I returned to it when he left so that I could give near daily posts and ask for prayers and good thoughts on his behalf. Oh and to put some cute pictures of my daughter out there too.
Plus I do like the facebook community; well most of it. There are things about it that I don't care for but I won't get into that now.
I do believe the whole facebook thing is worthy of its own post. After all there is even a movie coming out about it. But I'll move on.
I think the real reason behind my lack of blogging lately is that I write a letter to my son every night. And by the time I've typed no fewer than two pages to my recruit, filling him in on all the family tidbits and small town news, I'm just tired of typing.
And tired of thinking.
But.
If my daughter enjoys my blog enough to ask "did you blog today?" then I should be flattered and try harder to put something out there for her.
I did, after all, start this blog as a legacy for my kids. And I must say I've been validated by both of them regarding my efforts at that. First with Kayla asking me about my posts, and second with a letter from Blake when he told me he felt like my letters to him were the same as reading one of my blog posts written just for him. That was when he assured me that he had indeed read every single post while at home; he just never let me know it.
So, where am I going with all of this?
Um....I have absolutely no idea.
I guess I'm going in the direction of trying harder to record a few words on here as often as I can - for my kids.
And I'm going to do just that when I am done helping with the homecoming float, preparing for the homecoming dance, presenting art lessons to 100 first graders, juggling various appointments, enjoying fall softball games, traveling to San Diego, putting my heart back into my chest after watching my son graduate, planning and hosting a welcome home/graduation open house for 100 family and friends, stuffing my son with homemade desserts and suppers for 10 days, telling him good bye again and putting my heart back into my chest yet again after that good bye.
So yeah. More blog posts are on the horizon.
In my free time.
Saturday, September 11, 2010
I CHOOSE TODAY
Remember those days when your children were babies? Those days when you thought:
I can't wait until they sleep through the night
I can't wait until they can walk
I can't wait until they can talk
I can't wait until they are out of diapers
(or am I the only one who had those thoughts?)
It seems when my children were little, as much as I cherished my babies, I found myself looking forward to new phases.
How exciting new phases were - and how relieved I sometimes was when those new phases arrived.
The first week of sleeping through the night? Was there anything closer to heaven than my head staying on my pillow for six to eight hours at a time? I think not.
The first happy days after potty training was complete? FREEDOM!!!!
I'll admit I was not one of those moms who sobbed my eyes out when my baby went to kindergarten. I was a little melancholy about missing both of my children but I also looked forward to all of that "free time." And truthfully, I looked forward to my children experiencing the magic of learning - to the world being opened up to them in a whole new way.
But that mysterious free time that comes when all of your children are in school? It took several years for me to actually learn what that felt like, but that's a whole other post.
Like most of you moms who have teenagers or older children, I've blinked my eyes a few times and my kids are practically adults.
My son is at USMC boot camp and I have not seen his face in 8 weeks.
My daughter is a junior in high school and is busy and active and social and in love with life.
And I wouldn't have it any other way.
But I realized the other day that I've spent much of my parenting years simply ignoring the beauty of the moment.
When they were babies, I so often let frustration and fatigue win out and I'd wish for them to grow up.
Now that they are growing up I want them to be little again and I dread them growing up even more.
I so enjoy my sweet daughter; and the last couple of months have been especially amazing with her. This girl knows how to make the most of life.
She sparkles.
But sometimes? Sometimes when I watch her with her friends or listen to her laugh, I find myself thinking "only two more years...." When she's working on the homecoming float in our garage, I stand back and watch and think "after this, only one more float." And my heart does a sad little flip flop.
I want to hold on to her and turn back time to the days she wore soft leather MaryJanes and big hair bows. I want to see the hole in her smile that so charmed us during the tooth fairy days. But at the same time I want to see her move deeper and deeper into this wonderful journey of life. I want to watch her experience the joys of prom, graduation, college, lifelong friendships.
And so I once again have a choice to make.
Just as I had to make a choice 15 months ago when my son enlisted in the Marine Corps - the choice to live in faith instead of in fear - now I am making the choice to live in the moment as a mother.
I cannot go back to the joys of those sweet sweet days when my children were little. But I can recognize and be entrenched in the sweet moment of today - the sweetness of a high school girl who lives life with joy and surrounds herself with girls as sweet and fun as she is; and the relief and happiness that comes from knowing my son is healthy and strong enough to endure Marine Boot Camp.
I cannot turn the calendar back; and the calendar will turn itself forward quickly enough without my watching it and dreading it.
So here is my choice.
I choose today.
And all of the blessings it holds.
I can't wait until they sleep through the night
I can't wait until they can walk
I can't wait until they can talk
I can't wait until they are out of diapers
(or am I the only one who had those thoughts?)
It seems when my children were little, as much as I cherished my babies, I found myself looking forward to new phases.
How exciting new phases were - and how relieved I sometimes was when those new phases arrived.
The first week of sleeping through the night? Was there anything closer to heaven than my head staying on my pillow for six to eight hours at a time? I think not.
The first happy days after potty training was complete? FREEDOM!!!!
I'll admit I was not one of those moms who sobbed my eyes out when my baby went to kindergarten. I was a little melancholy about missing both of my children but I also looked forward to all of that "free time." And truthfully, I looked forward to my children experiencing the magic of learning - to the world being opened up to them in a whole new way.
But that mysterious free time that comes when all of your children are in school? It took several years for me to actually learn what that felt like, but that's a whole other post.
Like most of you moms who have teenagers or older children, I've blinked my eyes a few times and my kids are practically adults.
My son is at USMC boot camp and I have not seen his face in 8 weeks.
My daughter is a junior in high school and is busy and active and social and in love with life.
And I wouldn't have it any other way.
But I realized the other day that I've spent much of my parenting years simply ignoring the beauty of the moment.
When they were babies, I so often let frustration and fatigue win out and I'd wish for them to grow up.
Now that they are growing up I want them to be little again and I dread them growing up even more.
I so enjoy my sweet daughter; and the last couple of months have been especially amazing with her. This girl knows how to make the most of life.
She sparkles.
But sometimes? Sometimes when I watch her with her friends or listen to her laugh, I find myself thinking "only two more years...." When she's working on the homecoming float in our garage, I stand back and watch and think "after this, only one more float." And my heart does a sad little flip flop.
I want to hold on to her and turn back time to the days she wore soft leather MaryJanes and big hair bows. I want to see the hole in her smile that so charmed us during the tooth fairy days. But at the same time I want to see her move deeper and deeper into this wonderful journey of life. I want to watch her experience the joys of prom, graduation, college, lifelong friendships.
And so I once again have a choice to make.
Just as I had to make a choice 15 months ago when my son enlisted in the Marine Corps - the choice to live in faith instead of in fear - now I am making the choice to live in the moment as a mother.
I cannot go back to the joys of those sweet sweet days when my children were little. But I can recognize and be entrenched in the sweet moment of today - the sweetness of a high school girl who lives life with joy and surrounds herself with girls as sweet and fun as she is; and the relief and happiness that comes from knowing my son is healthy and strong enough to endure Marine Boot Camp.
I cannot turn the calendar back; and the calendar will turn itself forward quickly enough without my watching it and dreading it.
So here is my choice.
I choose today.
And all of the blessings it holds.
Thursday, August 26, 2010
I'M HERE - ALWAYS
I think I might have hit a wall this week - week 6 of my son's absence.
Perhaps it's the new school year and having my sweet girl move to "upper class man" status. Perhaps it's the onslaught of fundraisers and projects that come with each new school year. Perhaps it's the many plans we are making for Blake's graduation, ten day leave, and welcome-home party.
Whatever it is, I've hit the wall of worry and fatigue that comes from missing somebody who is embedded in your heart.
And so today, when I went to the mailbox for the fifth time - and I do mean FIFTH time - to see if the mailman had finally brought me a letter from my boy (I finally discovered he had not) I was brought down by a baby bird.
A baby bird conquered this recruit mama's heart.
It was a tiny little thing - that bird - no more than two inches tall and two inches long. So tiny it probably weighed no more than one of the maple leaves blowing in our tree nearby. This tiny bird was obviously where he wasn't supposed to be. He was in the middle of our driveway. In the sun. Out in the open. No shelter, no shade, no mama nearby.
And he stood still with his mouth open - yet silent - as though he were trying to call for help but had not quite learned how yet.
I came inside to get my camera but the pictures did not turn out. The sun was too bright, the bird was too tiny, and I suspect the mother was too close for me to approach; for I heard her. I heard the same trill coming from our tree. Over and over, the same pattern, the same call. Surely this sweet yet desperate call could only be that of a mother trying to lead her baby home.
I'm here. Here at home. I'm waiting for you. I'm here. Always.
And then I noticed that mixed in with the pleading call of the mother, was a tiny and plaintiff pattern from the baby.
I'm here. I'm here. I'm here and I don't know how to find you. Keep calling me. Keep calling me home.
I came inside to put the camera away (and to give my heart a break) and when I came back out - just a minute later - my tiny feathered worry was gone. The song of the mother was there but coming from a different tree. And the song sounded less sad, less desperate. I could not find the baby in the grass or under our shrubs.
Oh how I hope mama and baby were reunited. I hope somehow those minute wings of that baby bird were able to lift it into its nest where it belonged so that it could hide itself under its mama's wings and escape the hard cement of our driveway and the blazing heat of the sun.
I have one who has left the nest and one who will leave when I blink once, twice, three times.
The one who has gone? I know he misses me, but I don't think he's sad or lonely or scared. I think he is where he was meant to be; he and I both know it. And yet I still hope, with every letter I write him each night before bed, that he can hear my heart say to him "I'm here. Here at home. I'm waiting for you. I'm here. Always."
And the one who has one foot outside the nest? For now I wish I could put her under my wing and keep her out of the hardness and glaring heat of the world. And perhaps I can. But soon - too soon - I will be sending her off and my heart will be singing the same song:
"I'm here. Here at home. I'm waiting for you. I'm here."
Always.
Perhaps it's the new school year and having my sweet girl move to "upper class man" status. Perhaps it's the onslaught of fundraisers and projects that come with each new school year. Perhaps it's the many plans we are making for Blake's graduation, ten day leave, and welcome-home party.
Whatever it is, I've hit the wall of worry and fatigue that comes from missing somebody who is embedded in your heart.
And so today, when I went to the mailbox for the fifth time - and I do mean FIFTH time - to see if the mailman had finally brought me a letter from my boy (I finally discovered he had not) I was brought down by a baby bird.
A baby bird conquered this recruit mama's heart.
It was a tiny little thing - that bird - no more than two inches tall and two inches long. So tiny it probably weighed no more than one of the maple leaves blowing in our tree nearby. This tiny bird was obviously where he wasn't supposed to be. He was in the middle of our driveway. In the sun. Out in the open. No shelter, no shade, no mama nearby.
And he stood still with his mouth open - yet silent - as though he were trying to call for help but had not quite learned how yet.
I came inside to get my camera but the pictures did not turn out. The sun was too bright, the bird was too tiny, and I suspect the mother was too close for me to approach; for I heard her. I heard the same trill coming from our tree. Over and over, the same pattern, the same call. Surely this sweet yet desperate call could only be that of a mother trying to lead her baby home.
I'm here. Here at home. I'm waiting for you. I'm here. Always.
And then I noticed that mixed in with the pleading call of the mother, was a tiny and plaintiff pattern from the baby.
I'm here. I'm here. I'm here and I don't know how to find you. Keep calling me. Keep calling me home.
I came inside to put the camera away (and to give my heart a break) and when I came back out - just a minute later - my tiny feathered worry was gone. The song of the mother was there but coming from a different tree. And the song sounded less sad, less desperate. I could not find the baby in the grass or under our shrubs.
Oh how I hope mama and baby were reunited. I hope somehow those minute wings of that baby bird were able to lift it into its nest where it belonged so that it could hide itself under its mama's wings and escape the hard cement of our driveway and the blazing heat of the sun.
I have one who has left the nest and one who will leave when I blink once, twice, three times.
The one who has gone? I know he misses me, but I don't think he's sad or lonely or scared. I think he is where he was meant to be; he and I both know it. And yet I still hope, with every letter I write him each night before bed, that he can hear my heart say to him "I'm here. Here at home. I'm waiting for you. I'm here. Always."
And the one who has one foot outside the nest? For now I wish I could put her under my wing and keep her out of the hardness and glaring heat of the world. And perhaps I can. But soon - too soon - I will be sending her off and my heart will be singing the same song:
"I'm here. Here at home. I'm waiting for you. I'm here."
Always.
Wednesday, August 11, 2010
A WHOLE NEW ALPHABET
As a Marine Recruit mom, I'm learning a lot of new things this summer.
I'm learning that, for some reason, I get a little nervous every time the phone rings.
I'm learning that I have a new fondness for our mail carrier and the words to "Please Mr. Postman" keep going through my head.
I'm learning that no news is good news.
And I'm learning lots and lots of alphabet soup. Letters we throw around now as easily as we used to say "formula, diapers, fever, homework, practice, curfew" are now part of our every day conversation as we watch the calendar and mark the days until our recruit is no longer a recruit but a Marine.
USMC
DEP
ASVAB
POOL-E
MEPS
PT
IST
PFT
IT
B-MED
MCRD
MCRD-SD
MCRD-PI
DI
SDI
MCMAP
and finally...EGA.
The EGA - Eagle, Globe and Anchor is the symbol for the United States Marine Corps. Recruits are officially Marines when they are handed their first EGA pin. They earn that at the end of boot camp after surviving the Crucible.
The Crucible is relatively new to Marine Corps Recruit Training - having been added in the 1980's. It is a 54 hour highly intense combat and team building exercise during which the recruits sleep four hours and get two meals.
Four hours sleep and two meals. In fifty four hours.
Those 54 hours are when they learn to depend on each other for success and survival. At the end of the Crucible they are given a Warriors Breakfast where they get to eat as much as they want and actually take time to taste the food.
And then they are given their first EGA.
E. G. A. I suspect in about ten weeks time, those letters are going to be some of the most profound of our son's life.
And mine too.
I'm learning that, for some reason, I get a little nervous every time the phone rings.
I'm learning that I have a new fondness for our mail carrier and the words to "Please Mr. Postman" keep going through my head.
I'm learning that no news is good news.
And I'm learning lots and lots of alphabet soup. Letters we throw around now as easily as we used to say "formula, diapers, fever, homework, practice, curfew" are now part of our every day conversation as we watch the calendar and mark the days until our recruit is no longer a recruit but a Marine.
USMC
DEP
ASVAB
POOL-E
MEPS
PT
IST
PFT
IT
B-MED
MCRD
MCRD-SD
MCRD-PI
DI
SDI
MCMAP
and finally...EGA.
The EGA - Eagle, Globe and Anchor is the symbol for the United States Marine Corps. Recruits are officially Marines when they are handed their first EGA pin. They earn that at the end of boot camp after surviving the Crucible.
The Crucible is relatively new to Marine Corps Recruit Training - having been added in the 1980's. It is a 54 hour highly intense combat and team building exercise during which the recruits sleep four hours and get two meals.
Four hours sleep and two meals. In fifty four hours.
Those 54 hours are when they learn to depend on each other for success and survival. At the end of the Crucible they are given a Warriors Breakfast where they get to eat as much as they want and actually take time to taste the food.
And then they are given their first EGA.
E. G. A. I suspect in about ten weeks time, those letters are going to be some of the most profound of our son's life.
And mine too.
Saturday, August 07, 2010
A DAY WITH MY GIRL
Thursday night I made a decree that the following day would be Girls Day Out for the W family.
LET IT BE KNOWN - IN THIS LAND AND ALL LANDS THAT MAY HEAR - THAT FRIDAY AUGUST 6 WILL BE A DAY OF ERRANDS AND SHOPPING FOR THE PRINCESS AND QUEEN OF THE W ESTATE. HE WHO OBJECTS (DADDY...) WILL BE SUBJECTED TO THE SMELL OF NAIL POLISH AND A DOUBLE SILENT TREATMENT FOR NO LESS THAN 24 HOURS.
So then.
We first headed to the Walmarts for essentials like nail polish, People Magazine, and donut holes.
We also picked up lettuce, fresh spinach, paper towels and toilet paper.
And, finally, we printed some photos from one of Kayla's summer softball tournaments. See, we had this disc that we got at the tournament and we finally got ourselves out there to choose photos and get them printed.
Now having me stand in front of the photo printers at the Walmarts is like putting me in front of the controls of the Space Shuttle. "oooh! What does this button do....?"
But Kayla knew what she was doing, even though she'd never used those printers before either.
Our troubles came, not from the printers, but from the crabby old woman who was also printing photos. It was obvious she had used the printers often and was quite adept at printing her photos, scanning her receipt and then heading to the counter to sigh deeply and tap her foot when a clerk wasn't available RIGHT NOW!!
She scooted in front of us to scan her receipt, violating every personal space law known to man. She hovered over our shoulders piercing the backs of our heads with disapproving looks as we made our selection and she waited on her order to be "completed soon." She stood behind us in line at the counter and let us know, telepathically, that she was not happy - not happy AT ALL - that we got there first. After all, it appeared she had printed nearly 200 pictures at different times that morning, while we printed a mere 17.
And then. Before I even received my change from the clerk, she stomped up to the counter, placed her pocketbook down, marking her territory, and kind of, like, slid me out of the way, making me fear I was going to receive an elbow to my left cheek if I didn't MOVE OVER NOW!! And she did all of this despite the fact that I had already inched myself as far down the counter as I could to make room for her. I was far enough away from the register by the end of my transaction that the clerk would have been better off tossing my change to me one coin at a time; rather than he and I having to stretch our arms equidistant so that could receive my 76 cents.
I kept looking around for a Personal Space Law Enforcement Agent (a PSLEA) but there was none to be found. And surely, if there is ever need for a PSLEA, it is at the Walmarts.
Am I wrong?
Please, Mr. Walmart, post a nice sign about personal space etiquette in your entry way. Or better yet, have your greeters say "Hello. Welcome to Walmart. Please remember to stay at least 36 inches away from your fellow shoppers at all times. Have a nice day."
Whew! Was it a relief to get out of there. But our enthusiasm was not to be dampened. We headed to Jo-Ann Fabric and bought some thread for friendship bracelets and baskets for my craft room.
Then before finishing off our day with a late lunch of Chinese food, we stopped in at the salon and got our eyebrows waxed. Because we cannot have such a pleasant day without punishing ourselves a little bit.
Balance is important, you know.
LET IT BE KNOWN - IN THIS LAND AND ALL LANDS THAT MAY HEAR - THAT FRIDAY AUGUST 6 WILL BE A DAY OF ERRANDS AND SHOPPING FOR THE PRINCESS AND QUEEN OF THE W ESTATE. HE WHO OBJECTS (DADDY...) WILL BE SUBJECTED TO THE SMELL OF NAIL POLISH AND A DOUBLE SILENT TREATMENT FOR NO LESS THAN 24 HOURS.
So then.
We first headed to the Walmarts for essentials like nail polish, People Magazine, and donut holes.
We also picked up lettuce, fresh spinach, paper towels and toilet paper.
And, finally, we printed some photos from one of Kayla's summer softball tournaments. See, we had this disc that we got at the tournament and we finally got ourselves out there to choose photos and get them printed.
Now having me stand in front of the photo printers at the Walmarts is like putting me in front of the controls of the Space Shuttle. "oooh! What does this button do....?"
But Kayla knew what she was doing, even though she'd never used those printers before either.
Our troubles came, not from the printers, but from the crabby old woman who was also printing photos. It was obvious she had used the printers often and was quite adept at printing her photos, scanning her receipt and then heading to the counter to sigh deeply and tap her foot when a clerk wasn't available RIGHT NOW!!
She scooted in front of us to scan her receipt, violating every personal space law known to man. She hovered over our shoulders piercing the backs of our heads with disapproving looks as we made our selection and she waited on her order to be "completed soon." She stood behind us in line at the counter and let us know, telepathically, that she was not happy - not happy AT ALL - that we got there first. After all, it appeared she had printed nearly 200 pictures at different times that morning, while we printed a mere 17.
And then. Before I even received my change from the clerk, she stomped up to the counter, placed her pocketbook down, marking her territory, and kind of, like, slid me out of the way, making me fear I was going to receive an elbow to my left cheek if I didn't MOVE OVER NOW!! And she did all of this despite the fact that I had already inched myself as far down the counter as I could to make room for her. I was far enough away from the register by the end of my transaction that the clerk would have been better off tossing my change to me one coin at a time; rather than he and I having to stretch our arms equidistant so that could receive my 76 cents.
I kept looking around for a Personal Space Law Enforcement Agent (a PSLEA) but there was none to be found. And surely, if there is ever need for a PSLEA, it is at the Walmarts.
Am I wrong?
Please, Mr. Walmart, post a nice sign about personal space etiquette in your entry way. Or better yet, have your greeters say "Hello. Welcome to Walmart. Please remember to stay at least 36 inches away from your fellow shoppers at all times. Have a nice day."
Whew! Was it a relief to get out of there. But our enthusiasm was not to be dampened. We headed to Jo-Ann Fabric and bought some thread for friendship bracelets and baskets for my craft room.
Then before finishing off our day with a late lunch of Chinese food, we stopped in at the salon and got our eyebrows waxed. Because we cannot have such a pleasant day without punishing ourselves a little bit.
Balance is important, you know.
Thursday, July 08, 2010
HELP
I have always loved to read.
Always always always. I'm so happy when I have a good book in my hands.
When I was in the first grade, I read a book about a little girl who went shopping with her mom and got red shoes. That year I asked Santa to bring me red shoes for Christmas and he came through for me. From then on I've always had a pair of red shoes in my closet.
And my daughter got her first pair of red Mary Janes for her first Christmas pictures - at age eight months. And, even, if it's just red flip flops from Old Navy, she's always had red shoes in her closet too.
All because of a book.
My biggest weakness with books is that I buy them. I don't check them out from the library. I buy them; much to my husband's chagrin. Seriously, he can't stand that I spend money on books.
I can't help myself. I just want the book to be mine mine mine. I want to fold the pages down to mark my spot when I finally have to go to sleep at night. I want to mark the pages with a highlighter so I have poignant quotes at my finger tips. I want to carry the book to the softball bleachers and not worry if I smudge it with chocolate. If the book is part of a series, I want to collect the whole series and make it mine mine mine as well.
And I want to grab those books off my shelf and read them again. And again and again.
I have also realized I buy books for comfort.
And since my son is leaving (AGAIN) for boot camp in 11 days, I find myself seeking comfort in the shelves of the bookstores.
Which is where I found one of the best books I've read in a long time.
The Help. By Kathryn Stockett.
It's the story of African American domestic helpers (maids) in Mississippi in the 1960s. It's the story of their relationships with their White female employers.
Interestingly, the author (who has not written a novel before this) was raised in Mississippi with Black servants in her home.
This book is so poignant. So compelling. It's sad, humorous, heart wrenching, anger-inducing and worthy of a movie. It is most definitely worthy of a sequel, and I'm already predicting the plot of that sequel that may or may not be written.
The Help is one of those books whose ending I dreaded. I dreaded getting to that last page. And it's one of those books that I can't stop thinking about.
If you are a reader, go. Go now and find this book. You will be so glad you did.
And now I am reading Shanghai Girls by Lisa See.
I'll post a review on it when I'm finished.
Or maybe not.
Always always always. I'm so happy when I have a good book in my hands.
When I was in the first grade, I read a book about a little girl who went shopping with her mom and got red shoes. That year I asked Santa to bring me red shoes for Christmas and he came through for me. From then on I've always had a pair of red shoes in my closet.
And my daughter got her first pair of red Mary Janes for her first Christmas pictures - at age eight months. And, even, if it's just red flip flops from Old Navy, she's always had red shoes in her closet too.
All because of a book.
My biggest weakness with books is that I buy them. I don't check them out from the library. I buy them; much to my husband's chagrin. Seriously, he can't stand that I spend money on books.
I can't help myself. I just want the book to be mine mine mine. I want to fold the pages down to mark my spot when I finally have to go to sleep at night. I want to mark the pages with a highlighter so I have poignant quotes at my finger tips. I want to carry the book to the softball bleachers and not worry if I smudge it with chocolate. If the book is part of a series, I want to collect the whole series and make it mine mine mine as well.
And I want to grab those books off my shelf and read them again. And again and again.
I have also realized I buy books for comfort.
And since my son is leaving (AGAIN) for boot camp in 11 days, I find myself seeking comfort in the shelves of the bookstores.
Which is where I found one of the best books I've read in a long time.
The Help. By Kathryn Stockett.
It's the story of African American domestic helpers (maids) in Mississippi in the 1960s. It's the story of their relationships with their White female employers.
Interestingly, the author (who has not written a novel before this) was raised in Mississippi with Black servants in her home.
This book is so poignant. So compelling. It's sad, humorous, heart wrenching, anger-inducing and worthy of a movie. It is most definitely worthy of a sequel, and I'm already predicting the plot of that sequel that may or may not be written.
The Help is one of those books whose ending I dreaded. I dreaded getting to that last page. And it's one of those books that I can't stop thinking about.
If you are a reader, go. Go now and find this book. You will be so glad you did.
And now I am reading Shanghai Girls by Lisa See.
I'll post a review on it when I'm finished.
Or maybe not.
Friday, July 02, 2010
A MOTHER'S HEART
The thing about being a mother is that our hearts scream at the infliction of pain on another mother's heart.
Because our hearts can feel it. Our hearts can imagine it. Our hearts plead 'no...no....no....' on behalf of our fellow moms when their hearts are being ripped from their chests.
And so it is tonight as I sit paralyzed with sadness at the news that a classmate of Kayla's was killed in a car accident.
Sixteen years old, driving a mere couple of months. On his way to work.
And he is gone.
A mother's precious son is gone.
Her daughter's little brother is gone.
Her husband's boy is gone.
In the blink of an eye, her heart is laid bare to the worst pain a mother can imagine.
And we can feel it, can't we moms? We can feel that desperation to make it not true.
no no no no no....
How will she ever again lift her head off her pillow when she awakes each morning? How will she crawl out from under that weight of grief?
Do you feel it? Do you feel her pain? Is your heart breaking, simply because you know? You know what it means to love so fiercely that to lose that which you love is to have the air that you breathe sucked out of you forever?
If you are the praying sort, I beg of you to pray for this family. You don't need to know their name; God knows. God knows which mother will never be the same. God knows which family has just set out on that crippling journey of grief. God knows which parents have just been called to do that which no parents should ever be called to do....
This. This is beyond our comprehension. This is beyond what we think we can handle. This is a tragedy that will rip through our tiny school district like a hurricane blowing winds of grief, breaking hearts, devastating young lives. Because a precious boy is gone. A life is over far too soon. The foundation of our community has been shaken. And one family? Tonight one family in our midst now has a hole in its heart.
And so what we must do is fight the need to curl into a ball and hide from the pain. We must arm ourselves with the tools necessary to get our young people through this loss. We must show them how to minister to their friend's family. We must gather our strength from each other so that we can give it to our children.
There will be little sleep for me tonight. I daresay most of our community will by lying awake most of the night. As I pray for this grief stricken family I will also be praying that the rest of us can serve them, minister to them, lift them up, carry their burden, carry them.
And I hope you will join me.
Because our hearts can feel it. Our hearts can imagine it. Our hearts plead 'no...no....no....' on behalf of our fellow moms when their hearts are being ripped from their chests.
And so it is tonight as I sit paralyzed with sadness at the news that a classmate of Kayla's was killed in a car accident.
Sixteen years old, driving a mere couple of months. On his way to work.
And he is gone.
A mother's precious son is gone.
Her daughter's little brother is gone.
Her husband's boy is gone.
In the blink of an eye, her heart is laid bare to the worst pain a mother can imagine.
And we can feel it, can't we moms? We can feel that desperation to make it not true.
no no no no no....
How will she ever again lift her head off her pillow when she awakes each morning? How will she crawl out from under that weight of grief?
Do you feel it? Do you feel her pain? Is your heart breaking, simply because you know? You know what it means to love so fiercely that to lose that which you love is to have the air that you breathe sucked out of you forever?
If you are the praying sort, I beg of you to pray for this family. You don't need to know their name; God knows. God knows which mother will never be the same. God knows which family has just set out on that crippling journey of grief. God knows which parents have just been called to do that which no parents should ever be called to do....
This. This is beyond our comprehension. This is beyond what we think we can handle. This is a tragedy that will rip through our tiny school district like a hurricane blowing winds of grief, breaking hearts, devastating young lives. Because a precious boy is gone. A life is over far too soon. The foundation of our community has been shaken. And one family? Tonight one family in our midst now has a hole in its heart.
And so what we must do is fight the need to curl into a ball and hide from the pain. We must arm ourselves with the tools necessary to get our young people through this loss. We must show them how to minister to their friend's family. We must gather our strength from each other so that we can give it to our children.
There will be little sleep for me tonight. I daresay most of our community will by lying awake most of the night. As I pray for this grief stricken family I will also be praying that the rest of us can serve them, minister to them, lift them up, carry their burden, carry them.
And I hope you will join me.
Wednesday, June 30, 2010
BABY LOVE
Every Thursday in June, I had a long date with my new little boy friend. He's short and pudgy, nearly bald and barely has any teeth.
The thing about my little boyfriend is that I took advantage of him in the most absurd ways. Like one day? After he'd had breakfast and was in a really good mood? I started taking silly photos of him.....
This was an especially exciting photo session. I said to Kayla "Ok. He's fed. He's dry. Strip him down and let's get some patriotic photos." I had to put my camera on the Advanced Sports Action setting; this little guy has quick hands....It was like 'Lucy and Ethel do a Photo Shoot.'
See, my boyfriend's mama was offered a one-day-a-week job and asked if I'd watch him on that day. We both agreed to give it a try through the month of June. On the second week, Mommy came home saying she never wanted to go back to that horrible place again.
But she lived up to her agreement and finished her time, while baby Caden stayed with me.
As is the norm in our house, when a baby comes to visit, the world stands still and all things revolve around said baby.
Caden loves loves loves Kayla.
If Kayla left for a while, when she returned his little baby face lit up like a Christmas tree and he flapped his arms and legs like a pudgy bird trying to leap out of the nest.
The thing about my little boyfriend is that I took advantage of him in the most absurd ways. Like one day? After he'd had breakfast and was in a really good mood? I started taking silly photos of him.....
This was an especially exciting photo session. I said to Kayla "Ok. He's fed. He's dry. Strip him down and let's get some patriotic photos." I had to put my camera on the Advanced Sports Action setting; this little guy has quick hands....It was like 'Lucy and Ethel do a Photo Shoot.'See, my boyfriend's mama was offered a one-day-a-week job and asked if I'd watch him on that day. We both agreed to give it a try through the month of June. On the second week, Mommy came home saying she never wanted to go back to that horrible place again.
But she lived up to her agreement and finished her time, while baby Caden stayed with me.
As is the norm in our house, when a baby comes to visit, the world stands still and all things revolve around said baby.
Caden loves loves loves Kayla.
If Kayla left for a while, when she returned his little baby face lit up like a Christmas tree and he flapped his arms and legs like a pudgy bird trying to leap out of the nest.Oh sweet Caden. He even won Blake over. And it's a good thing. Caden is the son of Blake's recruiter. Oooh-Rah.
Caden loves Tigger.....
And his own toes.....
Sweet mercy, those legs. Don't you just want to smoosh them forever?
And his thumb.
Caden loves Tigger.....
And his own toes.....
Sweet mercy, those legs. Don't you just want to smoosh them forever?And his thumb.
And those eyes? I think I'm in love
What Caden does not love is sleep but I couldn't hold that against him because neither of my children loved sleep either.
I am so used to sleepless babies it's not even funny.
It's why I have exactly two working brain cells in my head right now.
What Caden's mommy and daddy don't know? When Blake leaves for boot camp, I'm going to put Caden in my back pack and bring him home with me. Shhhh....don't tell.
Sunday, June 20, 2010
PITCHING IN
About a week ago, some guy called Paul and asked if he thought our daughter would be interested in filling in on a travel softball team. One of their main pitchers has been injured and they needed somebody willing to pitch one or two games for a weekend tournament.
The thing is that this other team is from a nearby town and Kayla didn't know anybody on it, except another girl from her school who happens to play because her cousin is on the team.
So.
As a mother, when I hear that my daughter is being invited to join a group of teenage girls - a very close knit group of teenage girls whom she does not know - in a very competitive sport, what I hear is this:
"Yeah, we were wondering if you would hand your precious baby over to us so that we could throw her into a deep dark pit filled with hungry hyenas. Only for one weekend for now. And we'll see if they get hungry again after that."
Because sometimes? Girls can be a little....um....unwelcoming when an "outsider" comes into their midst.
But Kayla was all like "Sure. I'll play a tournament."
Now here's an interesting side note about our family. We are, evidently, athletic mutts.
Our children attend school at the home of the MF Trojans where they wear blue and yellow to support their teams. Our family wears blue and yellow in the spring while we sit on the bleachers to watch Kayla's school softball team.
Blake wrestles for the A/O Bombers and wears a blue and orange singlet. So,in the winter our family wears blue and orange while we sit on the wrestling bleachers.
And now?
Well, now we might be wearing red and black for the rest of the summer while we support Kayla's temporary position with the Mt. Z Braves Travel Softball Team.
I have no idea what we should call ourselves or what color we should be wearing each day......but I do like red.
After the first day of the tournament the coaches asked if Kayla would like to finish the season with this team. It is a huge commitment so she hasn't decided yet. But it is also a huge honor being asked, and we so appreciate the people who suggested her when the coach was calling around asking for a pitcher. Any chance to gain some experience is wonderful; but more importantly, any chance to make new friends is bound to be a great experience.
And as for the girls? I worried for nothing. All of them were very sweet and welcoming to Kayla. They were all very encouraging of each other on the field and off.
And Kayla is getting Facebook friend requests from some of them now. THAT speaks volumes, doesn't it?
I cannot tell you how proud I was of my girl this weekend. We showed up at that tournament and she introduced herself to the coaches, shook their hands and thanked them for inviting her to play. Then she dove right in with the girls and enjoyed herself.
I am proud of her performance on the field, but most of all I am proud of the fact that she spent two very long hot days with a new group of girls and started developing some new friendships. And she didn't seem one bit nervous.
And when one of the team moms - whom I just met this morning - told me that my daughter was "just a real sweetheart?"
Well, it might as well have been mother's day because what mom doesn't love to hear comments like that about their kids?
Sweet Kayla Beth - Dad and I are so proud of you for how you handled yourself all weekend. Great games. Great attitude. GREAT DAUGHTER.
The thing is that this other team is from a nearby town and Kayla didn't know anybody on it, except another girl from her school who happens to play because her cousin is on the team.
So.
As a mother, when I hear that my daughter is being invited to join a group of teenage girls - a very close knit group of teenage girls whom she does not know - in a very competitive sport, what I hear is this:
"Yeah, we were wondering if you would hand your precious baby over to us so that we could throw her into a deep dark pit filled with hungry hyenas. Only for one weekend for now. And we'll see if they get hungry again after that."
Because sometimes? Girls can be a little....um....unwelcoming when an "outsider" comes into their midst.
But Kayla was all like "Sure. I'll play a tournament."
Now here's an interesting side note about our family. We are, evidently, athletic mutts.
Our children attend school at the home of the MF Trojans where they wear blue and yellow to support their teams. Our family wears blue and yellow in the spring while we sit on the bleachers to watch Kayla's school softball team.
Blake wrestles for the A/O Bombers and wears a blue and orange singlet. So,in the winter our family wears blue and orange while we sit on the wrestling bleachers.
And now?
Well, now we might be wearing red and black for the rest of the summer while we support Kayla's temporary position with the Mt. Z Braves Travel Softball Team.
I have no idea what we should call ourselves or what color we should be wearing each day......but I do like red.After the first day of the tournament the coaches asked if Kayla would like to finish the season with this team. It is a huge commitment so she hasn't decided yet. But it is also a huge honor being asked, and we so appreciate the people who suggested her when the coach was calling around asking for a pitcher. Any chance to gain some experience is wonderful; but more importantly, any chance to make new friends is bound to be a great experience.
And as for the girls? I worried for nothing. All of them were very sweet and welcoming to Kayla. They were all very encouraging of each other on the field and off.
And Kayla is getting Facebook friend requests from some of them now. THAT speaks volumes, doesn't it?
I cannot tell you how proud I was of my girl this weekend. We showed up at that tournament and she introduced herself to the coaches, shook their hands and thanked them for inviting her to play. Then she dove right in with the girls and enjoyed herself.
I am proud of her performance on the field, but most of all I am proud of the fact that she spent two very long hot days with a new group of girls and started developing some new friendships. And she didn't seem one bit nervous.
And when one of the team moms - whom I just met this morning - told me that my daughter was "just a real sweetheart?"
Well, it might as well have been mother's day because what mom doesn't love to hear comments like that about their kids?
Sweet Kayla Beth - Dad and I are so proud of you for how you handled yourself all weekend. Great games. Great attitude. GREAT DAUGHTER.
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