The Best Plan Ever!!

Today, during lunch, Taryn told Trevor that when he goes to college he doesn't get to live with Mommy anymore. He promptly burst into tears and declared his hatred for college.

As an educator, I hope that my children choose higher education, but if they find something else to passionately pursue and dedicate their lives too, that's fine too. Just so long as they are legally able to support themselves and be fulfilled in their careers.

I could hear Trevor yelling to Taryn about how bad college is in the background, but in the front of my mind I was a little bit over-analyzing the anti-college sentiments that he might be learning. I started rambling ideas to calm him down so he could finish his lunch without choking. I explained how he will be grown up by that time, and how it isn't something he should decide now. It didn't help, and he kept on with his declarations against going to college promising that it was NEVER happening, EVER.

Then, things took a happy turn. I simply told Trev that he didn't have to move away to go to college, and that he could still live at home if he wants to. He got quiet for a minute, and I knew his little four year old mind was devising a plan. After a big bite of his peanut butter sandwich he filled me in. He will go to college, but only if I drive him there, hold his hand during class, and let him climb on my lap whenever he wants to.

I could not be any more serious when I say that this is the BEST plan I have ever heard. I walked over to him, kissed his crumb covered cheeks, and we shook on it. :)

Regrets

My biggest regret in life is not going to grad school. I know, I know, it's not too late. It certainly feels too late. We are already paying for college AND grade school for two kids, and I am working full time. I go browsing the internet for online master's degrees in guidance counseling frequently enough that I am now avoiding emails and cell phone calls from at least six universities that I had to give my information to in order to see anything about their programs. I am sure that they are confused since I went looking for THEM as to why I am now off the grid and refusing to talk to them. I have faith that they will figure it out soon enough.

Regrets are interesting. Some people get paralyzed by regrets. They live in the misery of all of the things they wish they hadn't done, or in wondering how things would have been different "if only". Don't get me wrong, I completely understand. Some regrets are huge. People live with choices that caused them to lose their families, miss seeing their kids grow up, or hurt other people. They are haunted by wondering if doing something different could have saved a loved one from some terrible thing. My choice to not go to grad school only hurt me, and its kind of a luxury anyway. Hurting other people, that would be a whole other story. Have you seen the commercial of the guy who killed three kids texting "I love you" to his wife while driving? Nauseatingly enormous regret.

Anyway, despite my lack of big earth shaking regrets, I do have lots of little every day regrets. I already regret that I didn't have breakfast today. I am feeling hungry and cranky and I think an egg would have helped. I regret comparing my arguing children to birds in a cockfight yesterday. How rude! I regret telling Taryn, and I quote myself here, "Stop joking, and stop smiling." Except for being coffin side at a funeral, that is always terrible advice. Especially for my SEVEN year old. I cannot even stand myself sometimes.

I have decided that regrets are like a potato, po-tah-to kind of deal. We might have the huge ones that follow us through life like Eeyore's own personal dark cloud follows him. But we also might have the millions of little ones. Some of us regret a wild life that was filled with too many chances, while others might regret always playing it safe. Some people partied too much in college, and it took them 8 years to graduate. Others of us studied too much in college, only to end up NOT going to grad school anyway- so what was it all for? OK, that last one might have been about me. The point is, either way, none of us get it perfectly right all the time. Some stay at home moms regret not pursuing their career passions, while working moms regret missing their kids' first steps. Even kids have regrets. Trevor cried like a maniac the other day because of regret. I asked him to go put his shoes on. He didn't want to, so I offered to time him. (Side note:I will terribly miss when timing them no longer makes them run off and do what I asked). He passed up on the chance to be timed because he didn't want to get off the computer, but when I turned it off anyway, and still sent him after his shoes he cried like a maniac. "I want to be timed. I want to be timed." Poor kid. Regrets can be hard to face.

Maybe all we can do is learn from our regrets, and keep adjusting our lives like the tuner on the old radios, back and forth, back and forth, until we find that balance we can live with. This morning when I asked Trevor to get his shoes while I timed him, he jumped at the chance. He learned from yesterday's regret. Tomorrow, I will eat that egg. I too, have learned. :) It may be impossible for the big regrets to ever go away, but maybe we can give them a purpose. We can let other people can learn from our regrets instead of keeping them hidden to fester and torment us way down deep in their hiding places. I am sure that is the whole point of that heartbreaking commercial about texting while driving. I have learned from that man's enormous regret, and I will not text and drive. I am thankful that I don't have to learn the lesson first hand. Second hand is always better when it comes to painful lessons. Prayers for wisdom help too, and for forgiveness, and an ability to forgive myself. That is usually the hardest part. And if regrets can be fixed- I say fix them. Like if your biggest regret is not going to grad school, for example. :)

Kids for Sale

I love my kids.
Today I wanted to sell them to the highest bidder.
How many times can I tell Taryn to keep her hands off her brother?
How many times can I tell Trevor to use his words and stop crying.
Don't try and guess. I don't have an answer. No way I could
keep counting and repeating myself at the same time. I'm no magician.

My sage advice slides off of them like they are made of Teflon.
I want them to be made of fly paper.
This advice is good. It would keep them from hearing me yell.
We all want to stop hearing me yell. Especially me.

I want them to play together...until they play together.
Then I want to banish them to their own rooms for the rest of forever.
How hard is it to get along? They love each other.
They are both fun,nice kids.
It should be like easy math.
1 nice kid + 1 nice kid + love + toys = FUN!
Should be like that. It wasn't. It was evil geometry proofs instead.
Are there kids in there playing or is that an illegal cockfight?

I can handle it.
My brain knows that.
My lungs don't.Breathing is hard. My eyes don't. They see red.
I don't think I have the patience for this.
I don't think I can say the right things. What do you say to frenzied birds in a cockfight?

Time-out is useless. Unless its for me. I definitely need a time-out.
Time out of the house, to be specific.
Counting the hours til bedtime. That makes me feel awful.
What kind of mom am I?

I know the answer.
The regular kind.
The kind with real kids. Good, bad, and in between.
But, those kids, even on this way awful, crazy day
found time to tell me they could never live
without me.

I'm holding onto that. The one moment in my day where my kids were more like kids than wild game hens.

Please God, give me back my little angels tomorrow.
I would be much obliged.

DREAM

When I was pregnant with Taryn, and I was painting things to decorate her nursery, one thing I did was to purchase the wooden letters D-R-E-A-M and paint them pink and white. I strung them on some wire and hung the word, DREAM over her crib. There was green ribbon decorating it in random places, and I hung it from two pink nails, loosely, so that it was in the shape of a smile, with the ends higher than the middle. Her room is painted green with pink accessories and white trim, so it tied in all of the colors nicely. That seemed really important back when I was about to have my first baby, but now seems like the last thing I should have been thinking about! I remember being hugely pregnant with Taryn, and sitting in her nursery with my mind spinning with anxious anticipation of what my first little baby would be like. I would sit in what would be her rocking chair, look at that word on her wall, and dream about who this little person would be.

After Taryn was born I spent long nights in her room, as all mother's do. Whether it was rocking her in the chair, half-sleeping through her midnight feedings, or reading stories and cuddling, "DREAM" always made me smile. To me, then, it was mostly a hope for sweet dreams at night for her...and me. Oh how vaguely I remembered sleeping deeply enough, and long enough to dream.

Time has passed, and Taryn has long since left her crib, her rocking chair, and her midnight feedings behind (woohoo!), but DREAM still hangs on her wall. When she started reading last year, she read it to me one night at bedtime. "D-R-E-A-M, dream. Why does my wall say dream Mom?" I thought the answer would be simple, but as I began explaining I realized how much I have have tied up in that single syllable. In the simplest sense, I do want her to dream, and dream sweetly, every time she lays down to sleep. But I also pray for her a life of one dream after another. A heart that believes in her possibility and potential so much that she always has big, brave, dreams to chase. I hope that many of her dreams come true, and I hope that some of them don't. There is nothing worse than someone who has not known enough disappointment in life. I hope that she dares to dream even when she fails, because the successful people are the ones who keep dreaming. I pray that Taryn's life is directed by her dreams, and that her dreams are inspired by positive influences and people in her life, as well as her intrinsic gifts and talents. That was a lot to tell her that night at bedtime, but I tried. In six year old words. She just smiled, and said she liked it. I was glad.

At about the time that Taryn turned seven, we did a little bit of a mini makeover in her room. She got new bedding that was a little more grown up, and a coordinating painting for the wall. There was one other coordinating decoration, an art hanging display, with wooden shapes on it that went with her bedding. It was strung on string and was almost the exact length of DREAM. I would have hung perfectly in its place, in the shape of a smile, and was a little more grown up than the little word that I have smiled at all these years. I thought Taryn would love it. It went with her room, and she would think it was awesome to hang her art and pictures on her wall. It was on sale last time I was at the store, and I had it in my cart. I realized though, standing in aisle at Target with tears starting to blur my vision, that I am not ready to part with DREAM yet. It's just wood, and paint, but it symbolizes one of the most enduring longings that my heart has held for my kids.

I know that nothing would change if DREAM came down. I would still pray for the same things, and talk to Taryn about the importance of her dreams. I just decided that for as long as I can see it there, and it can make me and Taryn smile, there it will stay. Her art looks just fine on the fridge. :)

That Sucks.

My sister hates the expression, "that sucks". She still calls sucks the 'S' word. And even now, as I am approaching 38 years old I have to apologize to her before or after I say it because I know that she is not happy to hear me incorporate that word choice into my conversations with her.

Even though I don't declare things to be "sucky" all that often, in an attempt to use more descriptive and sister-pleasing vocabulary words, I must say that I am an expert on "suckiness".

I have lived an absolutely blessed life. My parents are still married after 44 years. My maternal grandparents who have lived with my parents since I was 11 are still alive at 97 and 90 years old. My sister, Chrissy, is my best friend and is always there for me, and my brother is one of the greatest guys I have ever been around. He is talented, handsome, and almost as funny as me. I have a hilarious husband, Jayme, and was lucky enough to find him at a young age and be in the process of growing old with him. My kids are healthy and happy, and Jayme and I both have jobs that allow us to make ends meet with a little extra for fun times. There is no room for me to complain or to say that I know pain, but I do know "suckiness". (Sorry, Chrissy).

For me "suckiness" is only seeing my parents and grandparents once a year. My grandparents have long outgrown their comfort with traveling, and my parents, as their main caregivers are not able to leave them for long enough to make the trip down to FL to see us. For a family of four to fly from Orlando to Maine is quite expensive, and with full time jobs we just can't get away all that often. I love to hug them, laugh with them, watch Wheel of Fortune with them, and see the twinkle in their eyes. And I hate saying goodbye. There is nothing good about it. Life is fragile and fleeting. We are never promised tomorrow, and every goodbye could be our last. It is true every day of my life, but since I see my Maine family so scarcely, I feel like it is more possible with them. Quite frankly, saying goodbye, and not knowing when you will see someone again is "sucky".

"Suckiness" is my salary. I am blessed. I do something I love. I teach at a private school and I get to teach kids Math, Science, and Bible. I love it! I love working with kids, and they humble me every day. I have been a tiny little part of hundreds of life stories, and they are a part of mine. Each student I have taught has added something to my life, and I have the hope that I have added something good to theirs. However, it sucks that I make so little money and have no pension. The fact that I don't get regular raises, or have a salary that can compare with the public schools in the area is just plain sad. I will have to work until I die since I have no retirement. That is "sucky".

"Suckiness" is lizards in my house. I am not a fan. I find them gross and ugly and would be happy for them to live off in the distance somewhere, but when they get too close it sucks. Taryn stomped one accidentally on the patio when she was two. Blood and guts exploded from it all over her foot. I had to clean that up! That sucked. Snakes in the house sucks too...I have had them IN MY KITCHEN twice and on my patio countless times. Wild reptiles in my house pushes me to my limit.

I have an idea for an invention, the Groovy Movie Cootie Cover. I have no idea how to make it a reality, and my husband thinks there is no market for it. That sucks. I would love to be on QVC peddling my Groovy Movie Cootie Cover nationwide. An in ability to pursue my dreams sucks. Whether it be an invention to keep small children from getting folded up inside of movie seats, or writing professionally, in just about any capacity, not living out a realistic dream is kind of "sucky".

The thing is that my list of stuff that sucks is nothing special. We all have could have a list like mine. We have friends we miss, jobs that might not completely meet our ideal standards, kids that might be challenging our parental wisdom, arthritis, and persistent gray hair. Life is never going to be perfect on this imperfect planet. We can be real about our suck factors, and even occasionally commiserate with our friends, but let it be in balance with the acknowledgement of our many blessings. People know true pain in this world. Sickness, starvation, war. Life is really bad for some. However, if it is not really bad for you, don't try to force your way into that club. "Suckiness" is just that. It is a tremor in a world of earthquakes, and a windy day in a world of tornadoes. "Suckiness" is how you know your life is really pretty good.

Even a healed heart bears a scar.

Tomorrow is January 2nd, 2013. January 2nd seems like a "nothing special" day.  I mean New Year's Day marks the end of the busy holiday time from Thanksgiving on, so what could possibly matter about January 2nd?  Funny thing is I think a lot about January 2nd.  

My first baby was due on January 2nd, 2000.  It was a hard pregnancy. I had the same condition that princess Kate has, hypermesis gravidarum.  I lost thirty pounds in a month and was certain that I would die.  I was partly right.  At 13 weeks pregnant, just after I had started feeling better, and we had passed the riskiest 12 week mark, Jayme and I found out that we were not too young for broken hearts.  We found out on July 5, 1999 that I had a miscarriage. 

It has been many years, and our lives have been blessed by two happy, healthy children.  I type this today with a smile on my face, believing that life is good.  But I simultaneously believe that a piece of me is completely broken, and will only be repaired when I one day meet that little soul in Heaven.  
 
Someone I never met changed my heart and my life completely. Made me compassionate and understanding of a hurt that is all too often disregarded as "too bad".  And good has come from it. I was able to be there for a dear friend when she went through a miscarriage years later.  She needed someone to know her hurt, and because of my first baby, I did.  I needed her too.  I needed her to need my story.  The story of my unborn baby that I miss so much.  How can you miss something you never knew?  Not sure.  But you can. If you know what I mean, then I am sorry.  If you don't, then you'll have to trust me.
 
I write more eloquently than I speak.  Especially when I have something to, I don't know, "deal with".  Shortly after the miscarriage, I wrote a poem about my loss.  This is just a part of it, and I post it in honor of the first little heartbeat that ever amazed me.  I read it now with gladness, and thank God for a healed heart.  But even a healed heart bears a scar. 

I Wish You Were With Me

You're still my baby boy,
you're still the news that came
and filled my life with joy,
and even though we are apart
I always keep you here with me
inside my heart...

...You're with God today,

walking down the streets of Heaven, 

you're with God today, 

at a playground by the sea,

you're with God today, 

and I'm glad that He's beside you, 

You're with God today, 

but I wish you were with me.

Happy New Year to everyone.  I hope we all have a blessed year with peace, prosperity, and perspective.  :) 

Sometimes My Recycling Bins Teach Me Things

My recycling bin is situated behind the door from the kitchen to the garage. Jayme built a little perch for it back there, and it is perfectly out of the way, yet readily accessible. He's brilliantly handy. :) The thing is, it is BEHIND the door when I open the door. So to use the recycling bin, I have taken to stretching my arm out so that my hand is past the edge of the open door, and then just using my wrist to fling the recyclables inside. I do this constantly. Sometimes a dozen times a day. We are big recyclers here!

At night, when it is dark in the garage, I don't even turn the light on, just stick out my arm, and "wrist-fling" the glass, paper, or plastic inside. I always hear the familiar tone of the thuds as I make it in. Occasionally I hear the sound of it hitting, bouncing out, and rolling onto the garage floor. I always hope that is on a Monday night, because that means the bins are full, and recycling pick up is on Tuesday.

Last Tuesday night, I reached my arm out into the darkness of the garage (rinsed out yogurt container in hand) and my only thought was, " I hope there are no zombies out there tonight". I extended my arm, flicked my wrist, and heard the sound of the container hitting the back wall of the garage. It sort of stopped me in my tracks. I NEVER hear that sound. It didn't take me long, I mean, I am not the smartest person but obviously the bin was not there. I realized that it had rained all day, and that neither Jayme nor I had had brought it in from the curb all day. With a shrug, I turned on all of the lights, checked for zombies, and walked out through the garage to the curb and retrieved the bins. I deposited the yogurt container in the top bin before I went back inside, happy that things were back where they belonged.

For some reason, my faith in those recycling bins stuck in my head all night. Those bins are always there. I don't look, or wonder, or even hope they will be there. In fact, they are there so much, that I am shocked when they are not there even just once. I expect them to be where I need them to be. (I know this is like way over analytical for some smelly old recycling bins, but I cannot help where my mind takes me, so hopefully you can bear with me). I haven't got faith in many people, like I have in those bins. I don't know why. I was never, like, majorly scarred by anyone. But, I have had a culmination of little things that may have etched away at my trust tendencies. I have lived far from family for many years, so though I know I could count on them anytime and anywhere, they are just not here. Plus, I have been hurt by churches, and pastors, and friends who turned out to be just "friends". I count on my little family, and my handful of close friends. Beyond that, it is a world of strangers.

There was never a conscious decision to keep people at arm's length, but I have. I have trusted in my green bins more than I have trusted in people. That doesn't seem right.

Or, maybe its just me.

This has been my recycling bin revelation.

:)