The Joy of Watching Our Daughter Losing It

Last weekend my husband and daughter enjoyed a wonderful experience at Camp Seafarer  in eastern North Carolina with a local Y Guides group. There was zip lining over water, kayaking, archery, BB Gun shooting, ghost stories, s'mores, giggles late into the night, horrendous snoring, and memories that made my daughter laugh so hard, she turned a reddish purple color with tears streaming down her sun kissed cheeks. Yes, my daughter was losing it...big time. And I was one joyful Mom.
Anna is nine and one-half years old. She is starting to find her way in this world. She is discovering some people are the most amazing friends and some are best left as acquaintances. She is learning some people will keep their word and some will leave it in a pile of leaves, crumbling, breaking and twisting in the wind. She is developing her own sense of style with clothes, decor, music, literature and art. And when she shares these new discoveries with me, I am in awe of her creative spirit. But lately, my biggest enjoyment has been her lack of storytelling. The kind of story that begins quietly and innocently, but is quickly transferred to a gut wrenching, giggle infested, arms wrapped around the waist, gasping for air, I give up telling you anything intelligible type of a story. And in a nanosecond, my daughter is transporting me back to sleepovers and camping trips of my youth.
My memory echoes with parents yelling down the basement stairs to "Hush, girls...you need to sleep now" after a barrage of uncontrolled laughter had filtered up to the main floor. There was never a firmness in those voices, but more of a lyrical "You will pay tomorrow, but I shall not". I imagine they were smiling...a lot. I remember Mrs. Stockdale, my Girl Scout Leader, reminding us on our overnight trips that we might be more lively in the morning if we   would chat less in the nighttime. My cousin Amy and I were constantly reminded that while owls were hooting, we should not. Bah humbug! Will Smith was so on board when he sang, "Parents just don't understand.". But I am thinking they did...so much more than we understood.
When I look at my daughter's face, purplish, contorted and wet, trying so hard to convey a moment to me that I cannot understand...when she finally catches her breath and utters, "Never mind, you wouldn't get it", I smile, nod, and quietly think, " I so do." This part of childhood is fleeting, a bit indescribable, and tapped so far into your psyche, when you are 45 and in a reflective mood, these moments will step forward, a smile will spread upon your lips and your heart will be joyful for those moments when you totally lost it...and then found it again.

The Joy of a New Home

We are welcoming our third weekend in our recently purchased home and every day I fall more and more in love. Sigh. Not the teenage angst ridden emotional roller coaster state of love but those favorite faded, loose fitting, almost hole-in-the-knee and cannot throw out weekend jeans kind of love. Sigh. I cannot wait for all my friends and family to meet him kind of love. Sigh. The kind of staying up late imagining what we are going to look like in a few years kind of love. Sigh. The "I Do" kind of love. Sigh. I. Am. So. Gone.
David and I have shared EIGHT residences in our fifteen years of marriage. I laugh/shudder at the thought and jokingly/seriously say to my handsomely gray-haired husband, "This is it!". Because coincidentally, moving has always coincided with a job change. And I sort of smile because this is the same phrase I uttered after meeting David. I just knew.
My husband and eldest child are enjoying a Daddy/Daughter outing at Camp Seafarer this weekend. I have received hilarious girlfriend pictures with a backdrop of smooth water and tall pine trees followed by update texts of an ice cream social and Friday night dance craze. And one phone call that included so many activity updates, I was happily exhausted. Meanwhile, I am home with our son who was diagnosed with strep this morning. Sure, this health hiccup changed my Mommy/Son plans for the weekend. Instead of getting to indulge with my sweet boy, I am getting to know our house a bit more and I have to admit, I skinned my knees a bit when I fell head over heels. 
When we first purchased our house, I was giddy to have room again. And a backyard. And flowers in the yard. And a garage. And we could let Mason, our aging Jack Russell, out the back door and not on a leash,huffing up and down three flights of stairs...in the rain, or three feet of snow when we retell this scenario to our children. We had spent the past four months in an apartment on, yup, you guessed it...the third floor. But now, we were in our very own home with a front porch and a landscaped yard. Our backyard is plush with pine straw, pine cones and ivy. Proud pine trees guard us and protect us. We have a zip line, a playhouse and a playground. We have squirrels and cardinals and robins and um, a hawk so huge I scooped up Mason and bolted inside. We have neighbors who bake amazing pumpkin chocolate chip muffins and tutor me on the garden I always wanted but have no earthly idea how to tend.
Last night I wandered from room to room, stopping and sitting. Sighing. Thankful. Joyful. The journey was SO worth the wait. Thank you, Lord. I saw this house a year ago and now we call this funky green house with brown shutters on a hill....home. You were listening to me all along (note to self for blog entry down the road). Sometimes love is fickle. Sometimes love is not love but a misguided emotion of something you thought you wanted. And then sometimes, if you are truly blessed, love is enduring, comfortable, weathering and still unexpectedly, takes your breath away. We, at this moment, are a joyful family in a joyful house in a joyful life. Sigh. Isn't it dreamy?

The Joy of MOMS!

It only seems natural I should write about Moms this morning after a weekend of celebrating the special women in our lives. I have always had the pleasure of being surrounded by amazing role models, from my Grandmom to my Aunts to my Mother-in-Law to "adopted Moms" and of course, my lovable, huggable Mom. When we spoke yesterday, I mentioned Anna and I had shipped off our package Friday, so of course, our wishes would be late but the sentiment was the same: We love you! And then I said, "You know, Mom, it seems by the time you can fully appreciate your Mom, you don't have the time to let them know how much you now 'get it'." She laughed her infectious laugh and agreed. So I am hoping these few sentiments will help my Mom and ALL Moms out there know, we get it 100%. You are the epicenter of our family and all roads of love lead to you.
You loved us when changing diapers in the dark of night or changed the sheets because of an "accident" in our sleep. You soothed us, comforted us and sent us back to dreamland while you finished what we started.
You surprised us with sentimental notes in our lunchboxes or in the mail. In the middle of our days, you made sure we knew someone cared.
You provided first aid for scraped knees, slammed fingers, bumped heads, broken bones, and broken hearts. Chocolate chip cookies were never far behind.
You listened for hours while we chattered on about trucks, cars, dolls, why things grow, why things wilt, did you know (fill in the blank), girlfriends, boyfriends, the meaning of anything and everything in our world, sports, frustrations, celebrations and why oh why doesn't Dad get it?
You bought us clothes and shoes without keeping a tab.
You drove us back and forth to sporting events, birthday parties, movie and mall meet ups, rolling skating rinks on Friday nights, friends houses, college and vacations.
You laughed with gusto at our really bad jokes.
You believed our artwork should be in MoMA and displayed our creations proudly on the refrigerator.
The trinkets we made you in elementary school appeared every year at Christmas time, Easter, and any other holiday we glued, cut, glittered and created a heart felt something for you.
You logged in reading hours when you yourself were ready to hit the hay.
You made our favorite foods. And you made us eat our non-favorite foods.
You hugged us. A lot.
You attended every band concert, music recital, sporting event, school play and child function imaginable. And you did it with a smile on your face and a gleam in your eye that can only come from a Mom's heart.
You planned menus, outings, vacations, weddings, family gatherings and stuff we don't even know about but will in time.
You took us to church.
You taught us how to read.
You encouraged when we were discouraged.
You said no sometimes.
You asked a lot of questions when we were in high school.
You made celebrations special and random days a reason to celebrate.
You let us play in the rain and the mud.
You taught us how to plant, grow and harvest.
You packed picnics and suitcases.
You cleaned toilets, sinks, floors and rooms.
Laundry. That chore earns it's own line.
You picked up after children and animals and husbands.
You played with us. You laughed with us. You cried with us. 
You loved us when we weren't lovable.
You forgave us.
You prayed for us.
You. Were. Always. There. Loving. Unconditionally.
And my hope is you know how much you are loved, admired, needed, thought of and appreciated by this daughter who never had a clue. Until now.
Thanks, Mom. You are a joy!

The Joy of Backward, Neutral and Forward

This week has been a culmination of closure and the beginning of discovering new paths in our funny, messy, adventurous life. Josh ended his preschool life today. I finish my term as co-leader of a local MOPS group tomorrow. And we will celebrate two weeks in our very own home after a one and a half year hiccup of transplanting ourselves from Austin, TX to Cary, NC.
Life, like motion, is constant change. And I have found if you keep looking forward instead of backward, you are less likely to crash. But sometimes, just sometimes, staying in neutral isn't always bad for your engine.
Josh's preschool was the biggest blessing of the year. Most people would disagree and say, "Um, didn't you just buy a house? Whoa! Huge blessing!". True. But the transformation of our son this year was close to the metamorphosis of caterpillar to butterfly: if you don't watch closely, you'll miss something magnificent. 
Josh grew. Josh molted his old self of shy and insecure to outgoing and extremely confident. Sometimes, he liked to hang upside down. There were moments when I wasn't sure Josh was changing, he seemed the same on the outside. But inside, BIG changes were occurring. Little nuggets would slip out letting me know "stuff" was happening deep inside where Mommies can't always see until a word is spoken. Like, "Mommy, I know who my BFF is" he said one morning over breakfast. Smiling, I waited to hear the words, "Alex", his best friend that is moving to New Hampshire the end of May. Instead, I saw a big smile explode across his face as he said, "GOD!". Not often is Mommy speechless. 
And then there were moments when he was a typical preschooler: dawdling, short attention span, long sentences that neither seem to end or have a point but at the same time extremely important that I listen intently, justifying why food is more fun to play with than eat and my all time favorite childhood epidemic - selective hearing. "When are you going to change?" I would catch myself screaming in my head. And then one day, I look around, and there is a young boy, contentedly playing cars, singing songs, chewing with his mouth closed, saying words like "proboscis" correctly (Hello! I cannot say that word), telling his sister she looks pretty today, thanking me for making breakfast, calling Daddy on the phone just to chat, and I find I have lost my breath. Here, directly in front of me is an energetic, playful, intelligent young boy, ready and excited for Kindergarten. "I will have Lunch Buddies every day!". "I will have two playgrounds at my new school!". I will ride the bus with Anna!". It is hard for me not to look back to September when I turned an extremely shy four-year-old boy over to a very loving, hilarious, patient woman who in the end returned a vibrant, happy, confident five-year-old boy. I know I need to look forward and prepare for his first day of "real" school. But for now, at this very moment, I am content to stay just where I am; a snuggly Mommy with a snuggly boy who still thinks "I know most things " ("but" he says, "you are not like Anna who knows everything!") and still lets me kiss his face in public. Sooner than I am ready, we will be shifting into forward, heading in a new direction and picking up speed. For a moment, I will look in the rear view mirror watching the road turn into a narrow, winding ribbon. I will tuck the postcards of yesterday into my joyful heart, take a big breath and smile, knowing there is another rest stop just around the bend with a butterfly waiting to be discovered.