I Need…

to anticipate transitional speed bumps.

My son is a rising 8th grader.  If you do the math, this means that we have transitioned from a school schedule to a summer rhythm eight years in a row.

Each year, however, I seem to forget the inevitable transition period as we shift from the full warp of school pace to the impulse speed of summer vacation.

This year our youngest also being in school and two different school calendars augmented our adjustment phase.

We collided like combustible atoms all morning, and by 10:00 a.m. I had lost my zen, my patience, my perspective and I realized that I was more frustrated than I have been in months. I teetered on the edge of spraying anger around the room like rancid silly string. Before too much maternal anghts could ooze from the can like aresol hairspray and rip a crater in the ozone of our summer launch, however, I remembered something I said to a friend on the phone last night.

Last night I was all calm and philosophical like a woman who is not outnumbered by children 8:1.  Could it only have been last night, and not three weeks ago, that mediation seemed plausible and thoughts of summer smelled like warm coco butter?

Yes, it was just last night that I had donned my educator’s cap and opined to my friend that if children come to consensus on what their needs are and commit in community to meet each other’s needs, relationships flourish and behaviors shift to support positive group mores.

Last night that didn’t register as more redolent of crap than any diaper I changed today.

I grabbed the fleeing vestiges of calm like a bolemic mines the last traces onion dip out of the bottom of the tub when there are still Ruffles in the bag and shifted gears.

I absolutely admit that the intial phase of our family exercise was a bit tense. Picture children marched to a table as pencils and notebook paper slam into their work space in churlish percussion.

All was still when I told them that we were all going to write down ten things that we needed to feel safe and supported in community.

The Middle Girl asked a question that liberated the exercise from route to heart. She inquired, “Do you mean what do I need to be able to be myself with people? To feel safe.?”

Her question reframed the moment like an engraved invitation assures the reception of the wedding will have white lines, silver flatware and crystal champange flutes instead of a pig roast.

The attention of each person shifted as we discussed her idea. Soon the only noise in the room was the sound of pencils as they fox trotted across the ballroom of each page.

The results:

I need…

1.   to have my voice heard

2.   to be able to trust the other person

3.   to not be made fun of

4.   to share jokes

5.   to resolve arguments

6.   to love and be love

7.   to be respected

8.   to know the other person likes me for me

9.   to know that they care

10.                 to have good times

I need…

1.   people to be honest with me

2.   people to not put words in my mouth

3.   people to be nice to me

4.   them to be a good friend

5.   them to understand me

6.   them to be listen to me and think about what I said

7.   them to be fun be around

8.   them to be not mean

9.   them to be careful with people

10.                 them to like me

I need…

1.   to know that I am can trust them

2.   to know that they will treat me with respect

3.   to feel safe and safe and happy with the person, them being nice

4.   to know that they will always be there for me

5.   to feel safe with the person and knowing will always follow through when I ask them so I can count on them

6.   to feel free to be myself around them

7.   to know they will always be my friend and be loyal

8.   people to be kind

9.   know they will not tease or be mean to me

10.                 to trust they will never be mean just because it’s popular

I need…

1.   to feel included

2.   food

3.   God

4.   Freedom

5.   Courage

6.   Love

7.   You

8.   Justice

9.   Kindness

10.        People to be careful with me

I need…

1.   to feel considered, that my feelings are important to others

2.   to feel heard, that what I say matters

3.   I need to feel appreciated, that I bring value

4.   to be able to have fun

5.   to be able to contribute

6.   to know what to expect

7.   to know it’s not all about me

8.   to feel loved

9.   to laugh

10.                 to be able to take breaks

The ages of the speakers of these needs range from 5 (The Baby) to 187 (The Mamma, calcuated by the MyTrueAge formula like used on The Biggest Loser.)

Who knew we had so much in common… like we were related even!

There was genuine accord and group consenses that we all operate with the same basic sense of needs. The kids made their own novel and insightful connections that fractured the axiom that the majority of unhappiness in life is relational as a new truth for the next generation.

We committed to respect and meet each other’s needs.

Our communication extended relational hospitality and a vocubulary common to each other’s process.

It was not the beginning I expected for the first day of our summer vacation together, but it was the one we clearly needed.

I know this by its fruit.

Well baby I’ve been here before
I’ve seen this room and I’ve walked this floor
I used to live alone before I knew ya
I’ve seen your flag on the marble arch
Love is not a victory march
It’s a cold and it’s a broken Hallelujah
Hallelujah
Hallelujah
Hallelujah
Hallelujah!

Brown-eyed Daughter

The Oldest Girl’s last day of 5th grade was Friday.

As regular readers know in her short, young life, she has battled birth defects, critical surgeries, and Mean Girls.

Her heart of faith is a constant Hallelujah in my life.

In her own words, and used with permission, this poem encapsulates a recent victory:

I was in school, and I had some free time. I decided that I would write a poem, and not just any ordinary run-of-the-mill poem, no! I would write a poem worth remembering… Hope you enjoy it!

There Was A Girl.

There was a girl,
a blue eyed beauty

There was a girl, a tall girl,
a strong girl

There was a girl,
with golden hair

There was a girl,
a brave girl, a safe girl

There was a girl,
with lots of friends

There was a girl,
a kind girl, a delicate girl

There was a girl,
who lived on reputation

There was a girl,
a sad girl, a quiet girl

There was a girl,
a wolf in sheep’s clothing

There was a girl,
an ignored girl, a bruised girl

There was a girl,
she was “in”

There was a girl,
a wise girl, an independent girl

There was a girl,
who wasn’t satisfied

There was a girl,
a calm girl, a godly girl

There was a girl,
who went in with bad intentions

There was a girl,
a hurt girl, an attacked girl

There was a girl,
who hurt on purpose

There was a girl,
a scared girl, a marred girl

There was a girl,
who had no regret

There was a girl,
a sad girl, a regretful girl

There a girl,
who was just mean

There was a girl,
who couldn’t take it any more,

she decided to stand up,
to say “that’s not cool, OK?”
She knew it was a risk,
but she prevailed

There was a girl with brown hair,
no blue eyed beauty could compare

She couldn’t be more correct.

And, yes, I am unspeakably proud.

Baby I have been here before
I know this room, I’ve walked this floor
I used to live alone before I knew you.
I’ve seen your flag on the marble arch
Love is not a victory march
It’s a cold and it’s a broken Hallelujah

Hallelujah, Hallelujah
Hallelujah, Hallelujah!

Context Cues

Earlier this week, I mentioned to The Baby, “Don’t forget Jackson’s shorts are in your backpack.”

I chuckled to myself as I considered the context embedded in this comment. If my daughter were sixteen and had come home wearing her boyfriend’s  gym shorts, like Lucy, she would have had, “A lot of s’plaing to do!”

There are so many moments like when context is all. For example, when I texted a friend over the weekend, “Remind me to tell you the story behind why your son and my daughter are naked in the back seat of the truck,” her response was a great big giggle.  She even found the message humorous enough to share with the people that she was with at the time. Imagine a mom’s delight to boast her boy had been caught with his pants off in a girl’s SUV.

There was no shame nor recriminations simply because she knew by context it was all good. Needless to say, that the kiddos had just played on a muddy slide on the soccer field and were covered from their heels to the parts on the tops of their sweet, little heads in Virginia orange-hair-red clay, not to mention that her son is three and my girl is five, had everything to do with why it all good.

Smudged lipstick on my husband’s collar is merely a laundry issue if I find the stain the day after The Middle Girl’s class play.

When I heard The Boy exclaim, “Oh, man, it’s so engorged!” to his friend as they gamed on his play station from the boy bunker downstairs, I hit the pause button. I understood he had described his buddy’s Hires rootbeer and pepperoni pizza-bloated gut, not his groin.

Context is all in communication and relationship.

There has been much embedded context in how my community has responded to the possibility of our family’s relocation. On every level, I have been humbled and surprised.

An unexpected benefit to the ambiguity of our family plan is that it has distilled to me the quality of those I loved and am fortunate to be loved by in return. It has brought what we have here in this time and place into sharp, clear focus.

Though the passageway to here has been moist and uncertain, a bold guard of friends as loyal as Marines encapsulate me. They walk this wall with me. Though they have seen me trip and falter, they got my back, and will not leave me behind or alone.

Likewise, I am as aware of the flavor of each in my circle as if I had done the Science experiment The Middle Girl just came home raving about Wednesday. Her class was instructed to pinch close their noses tightly and then chew jelly beans for ten seconds. After ten seconds passed, they were directed to unpinch their noses. The Middle Girl was simply baffled by how much more vibrantly she could taste the flavor and sweet of the jelly bean when enhanced by her sense of smell.

I feel like I am in the middle of analogous conditions. Just as the sense of smell scaffolds taste, so does transition fortify strongholds.

No one has died.
Nothing is broken.
No one is sick.

There is now no actual loss, yet the context enhances my every relationship as we wait upon the Lord to clarify our family’s call.

The people that I love appear more vibrant to me now. I revel in their beauty against the canvas of my life. I appreciate the flavor and sweetness of each heart more clearly.

I am more aware of who we are to each other in relationship.

You all know I didn’t volunteer for this tour.

I was drafted.

However, I am amazed that even before He has made His will clear, God has borne fruit from this situation in our lives and relationships.

And even if it all goes wrong,
I’ll stand before the Lord of song,
with nothing on my tongue
but Hallelujah.
Hallelujah, Hallelujah,
Hallelujah, Hallelujah,
Hallelujah, Hallelujah!

Oh, No! Not Again!

Top 10 List:  How An Unexpected House Showing is Like an Unexpected Pregnancy

10. Zero control of the timing.

9. The Mamma and The Papa cry, “Not now!” in perfect harmony

8. Escape fantasies.

7. Irrational craving for pickles.

6. Tender breast heave in aerobic upheaval.

5. You have to find a quick place to hide all those pairs of pants that no longer fit.

4. Frantic trips to the bathroom.

3. Unexpected projectile vomiting.

2. Irrational mood swings.

1.H-Y-P-E-R-V-E-N-T-I-L-A-T-I-O-N!

Well I heard there was a secret chord
That David played, and it pleased the Lord
But you don’t really care for music, do ya?
Well it goes like this
The fourth, the fifth
The minor fall and the major lift
The baffled king composing Hallelujah
Hallelujah
Hallelujah
Hallelujah
Hallelujah!

Irony

The irony that I received a fabulous, bh subscribe feature for Mother’s Day and then failed to post new content this week is not lost on me.

Generally speaking, I am a big fan of irony.

I love whimsy and appreciate the unexpected in art and film.

It’s the unexpected in life that toggles my gag reflex and that has been our recent family fare.

I’ve simply had no appetite to write about the specifics.

My processing light blinks like crazy as I digest this download.

In the expanse, my children have been the fountains of creation.

It’s May after all… and my hyper-tasked tots have managed multiple due dates for projects far beyond the scope of anything I did before high school.

There has been a research papers on pediatric insomnia, an interactive sleep clinic presentation and two spring plays; Oh my!

There have been short stories, diary entries, and Geometry quizzes; Oh my!

There has been the construction of a scale model of the Golden Temple, a prayer book and a score of testing; Oh my!

There  have been soccer try-outs, fencing lessons, and soccer games; Oh my!

There have been birthday parties, jammie-jams and whipped cream shooters; Oh my!

There is also a lockbox on my front door.

Amid the warp speed of the year end’s close, we risk a new beginning in another place.

There have also been fights, tears and house showings; Oh my!

There have also been Family Meetings, discussions with heads of schools, and heart-to-hearts with friends and family; Oh my!

There have also been plans, revisions of plans and uncertainty; Oh my!

Did I mention The Husband is out of town for two weeks; Oh my!

The irony is that I have never been more busy, nor felt like I have less to say.

This is my be quiet time.

This is my time to Trust and Obey.

This is my season to wait in the shelter of His wing and know He does all things for my good.

This hour paints the sunset of how I feel against the majestic Glory of  His ever, certain Presence.

As my family straddles the end of one school year and does not know where we will begin the next, I stand in a cold uncertainty so outside my comfort zone that it freezes my thoughts like frost on citrus and I seek just one face.

I seek My Father.

I seek His will alone.

The Sun also rises.

I will dance in His presence where ever He places me.

I will Trust.

I will Obey.

I will Sing Him Praise.

And if my voice is wet, my nose is thick, and tune is uncertain, I will still sing.

I will still Praise His Name.

Hallelujah!

Well there was a time when you let me know
What’s really going on below
But now you never show that to me do you?
And remember when I moved in you?
And the holy dove was moving too
And every breath we drew was Hallelujah
Hallelujah
Hallelujah
Hallelujah
Hallelujah!

Hulu Line-Up Might Set-Up Our Children

This era of Netflicks and Hulu is also a time when young children may develop eating disorders. In a study from the journal Communication Research, University of Michigan researcher, Kristen Harrison, Ph.D., has shown television viewing to be correlated with both anorexic and bulimic symptoms.  Harrison observes that, “[t]here was a significant positive correlation between overall viewing (hours per week) and disordered eating symptoms,” among the 6-8 year old children studied. Overall television viewing was examined, which includes advertising.  “Dieting to lose weight is the norm on television, and children may glamorize it as a ‘grown up’ thing to do and thus start to do it themselves,” Harrison explains.  The study also suggests that children may engage in these copycat dieting and exercise behaviors before they internalize the message that the thin body is the socially ideal body.  Parents and teachers can minimize the impact of the diet-obsessed media by exposing children to alternative information.  They can demystify the thin ideal by teaching kids to become critical television viewers.  This weekend, instead of just asking, “What’s on?” kids should be taught to challenge the content and images of what’s on.  Instead of blithely accepting the standard thin network icon, children can learn to question its commercial motive.  Children need these TV savvy skills. Moreover, children should be encouraged to put down the remote and pick up a soccer ball.  A bad show lasts only 30 minutes, but a bad relationship with food may last a lifetime.

I’ve told the truth, I didn’t come to fool you
And even though
It all went wrong
I’ll stand before the Lord of Song
With nothing on my tongue but Hallelujah!

Subscribe to bh

I hope your Mother’s Day was filled with raindrops on roses and picnics with cheesecake. The latter are certainly a couple of my favorite things.

I trust you were amid friends and family and maybe even were blessed with a surprise gift and billet doux or two.

I’m personally convinced that Mother’s Day is one of those magical holidays that calories don’t count and M&Ms are calorie deficient.

The Husband, my tech support geek, surprised me with a gift I did not even know I wanted until a generous reader, Andrea, observed that I didn’t have one.

A Subscribe feature!

Because of his loving efforts and her fine observation, you may now Subscribe to bh.

The Subscribe button is the in red field on the top, right hand corner of the Home page.

If you hit Subscribe, it will walk you through the hoops step-by-step.

Easy-breezy!

Such as I love; and you, among the store,
One more, most welcome, makes my number more.

In closing, here’s a peek at another one of my Mother’s Day treasures:

“Dear Mama,

Thank you for your consistent love, kindness, faithfulness, and faith. Over eleven years, you have seen me grow and mature, cheering along the way. I really can’t tell you how much that means to me. I feel secure knowing that you are home, or just down the stairs. You have helped me in my walk with Christ, and I strive to be more like you every day. You are the most beautiful woman in the world. I love your laugh, your whimsy, your sassy frass self. You have been nothing but understanding as I have had beauty accidents and confidence fails. Today it is time to celebrate you. Your excellence, your beauty. I hope you have the best Mother’s Day in the World!

Your loving daughter,”

The Oldest Girl

I am one lucky Mamma!

Your faith was strong but you needed proof
You saw her bathing on the roof
Her beauty and the moonlight overthrew you
She tied you to a kitchen chair
She broke your throne, and she cut your hair
And from your lips she drew the Hallelujah!

Oh Me, Oh My, It’s May!

The blistering pace of May denies Physics!

I wish there were the Mommy equivalent of sunscreen for this time of year:

Time Cream,
Schedule Screen,
Help Her Not Scream,
Hope Catalyst.

Replicator,
Dinner maker,
Antiperspirant that doubles as dish washer.
Never say never.

Field Trip driver,
Anti-Anxiety Buffer
for ERBs,
SOLs,
final exams
and babies sweet
who burden to bubble
the right dot to dot.

Anti Depressant that does,
folds
and PUTS AWAY
one load of laundry
per dose.

Community service,
Carry A Meal
Love one another
Walk out the Beatitudes
_despite your attitude_
especially when it’s hard
and double time when you want to least

Family Trailers

Had an experience this week that made me consider the marketing allure of movie trailers. Movie trailers showcase the funniest, most exciting and intense moments of a film to intake preview audiences to want, even need to see the film. The best trailers make a crowd gasp, cry and burst out in choral laughter.

A morning this week made me realize that families have trailer moments too.  However, some of these clips are bloopers that they’d never want shown on screen, let before their school, church or work audiences.

In our house a morning glitch excavated such a drama and featured a typical teen, a harried  Mamma, and what happens when you don’t do what you should have done the day before a busy morning that the family has to get to school early for music sectionals:

_Cue Camera_

Dirty lunch box stows away in the cupboard (as if cleaned-out per child-chore protocol) and an empty, sticky, Sig bottle in the ‘frig (as if rinsed and wiped, as per child-chore protocol). Both items initially look normal and innocent, until the camera pans in and the audience can see the rat’s nest mess inside the lunch box and shine of slime on the water bottle.  Naturally, these jewels are left for the frantic Sectional-morning treasure hunt as the Mamma paws blurry-eyed about the kitchen chasing the clock and in search of caffeine.

The film features a family with four children. To survive, The Mamma expects the kids to assist with basic and age-appropriate chores. There’s no ambiguity about what she asks of them. They talk about it during family meetings. They post it on the family task board. When things run smoothly, they compliment each others’ successes and strategize their situational inability to meet deadlines.

The Mamma stumbles into the kitchen sleepy-eyed, muttering under her breath to the powers that be about the family’s inability to track the Sectional schedule. She shuffles bare food across the floor with bed head that rivals dreadlocks and blunders toward the coffee cup. She looks at the clock at the cup brews and acknowledges aloud, “It’s gonna be a close one.”

That particular morning, however, The Mama finds her chase with the clock impeded by factor of ten after she pulls out the offending lunch items. The Sig bottle is slick and lunch box a nest of crumbs, icepacks, dirty utensils and wrappers. Not only does the incident cost her more time to clean the items which she does so with such vigor the sponge she uses weeps for mercy, but she must also debrief with the teen.

Working herself up the whistling-Mamma scale of how-many-times-have-I-told-yous and what-were-you-thinkings, the summoned teen confesses in clipped Marine cadence, “Lack of foresight, Ma’am!”

The Mamma’s mouth gaps open as the camera zooms in for a close up. No response whatsoever, but her eyes twinkle with amusement. Even frustrated and with morning breath, she loves the teen.

_End Trailer_

The experience made realize how many times I would NOT want my family life on film.

I am grateful the teachers at my kids school don’t see every moment of what happens in our house before they arrive to their classrooms, well packed lunch boxes in hand.

I am relieved that every time we roll up to a church the Pastor didn’t have our marital conflict on his i-pod.

I am happy my kids can hit the soccer field and the coaches don’t know that they had to pull their uniforms out of the dirty close hamper because I didn’t get them washed again.

I hope to have a bit more sensitivity the next time I bump into someone else’s process and pick up the vibe they may have just exited from one of their own family bloopers moment.

I love relationship, but honor the blanket of privacy that covers a myriad oops.

Well Your faith was strong but you needed proof
You saw her bathing on the roof
Her beauty and the moonlight overthrew you
she tied you to her kitchen chair
And she broke your throne and she cut your hair
And from your lips she drew the Hallelujah
Hallelujah
Hallelujah
Hallelujah!
Hallelujah

The Boy Turns 13 on Wednesday

He’s petitioned grandparents for a new gaming system.

He’s booked his buds for a cook-out, sleep-over.

He’s taking his girl out Saturday afternoon after he fences on The Downtown mall.

(Chaperoned.)

He texts as fast as the wind.

He began the year in a size 8 shoe, and I just bought him size 10.5 soccer cleats for the Spring season.

Men’s.

He has a discernable mustache,
his own distinct code of honor.
and a sense of humor that makes him crack himself up.

I love when he laughs at his own jokes.

He still hugs and kisses us goodnight and goodbye.

And writes poetry

(used with permission)

4/13/11

Emotions

It feels like a drawn out sigh,

The prickling of tears you wish you could cry.

It smells like sweat,

That horrible odor.

It looks like a bowed head,

A creased brow.

It sounds like hollow cheer,

But still utterly sad.

It tastes like glue in your mouth,

Silencing your cries.

It is hopelessness.

It feels like a fire

Burning white hot inside you.

It smells like burnt plastic,

Putrid and vile.

It looks like a beet red face,

Like a cherry about to burst.

It sounds loud and incoherent,

Hurtful and sad.

It tastes like a poison

Corrupting your soul

It is anger.

It feels like your flying

High in the sky

It smells like her odor,

That only you know.

It looks like togetherness

And a bonding of two.

It sounds like a heartbeat,

Quick and fast.

It tastes like delight,

And the food you most like.

It is love.

It feels like a warm blanket,

Made just for you.

It smells warm and familiar,

Like a distant memory.

It looks like innocence,

White and pure.

It sounds like a laugh,

Or a well sung song.

It tastes sweet

And also rich.

It is joy.

They feel like a drawn out sigh, like a white hot fire burning inside.

Like the feeling of flying high in the sky, like a warm blanket.

They smell like sweat and burning plastic.

Like an odor and a memory.

They look like a bowed head and a beet red face.

A togetherness and innocence.

They sound utterly sad, mean and horrid.

Like a heartbeat and a laugh.

They taste like glue and like poison.

Like delight and sweetness.

They are emotions.

I love our boy.

And it’s not a cry that you hear at night
It’s not somebody who’s seen in the light
It’s a cold and it’s a broken Hallelujah
Hallelujah
Hallelujah
Hallelujah
Hallelujah

Hallelujah
Hallelujah
Hallelujah
Hallelujah

Hallelujah
Hallelujah
Hallelujah
Hallelujah
Hallelujah!