parenting error #2942

Oh, Dearest.

You are our first child.  You are the one that made us fall in love with being parents, the one who convinced us there was still Wonder in the world.  You are also the one who taught us how quickly infants can fall off a bed, how literally and figuratively freakishly strong a child can be, and to always bring 2 changes of clothes- for everyone- to church.

You are have been there for every parenting triumph and every parenting failure.  All of them.

This story is a recount of the latter, I am sad to say.

Monday night, you were having a rough time getting to bed.  There are few things funnier than a VERY tired child yelling at their parents that they are NOT. TIRED.  all the while wobbling around like a wet noodle and turning bright red with anger and snot and flailing arms.  If you’re not tired, you’re going through menopause, my hand to heaven.

As you were finally crawling under your comforter, we noticed a little red line of blood in your mouth.

“Ry, ” I said, “Is your tooth loose?”

“No.”

“Can you wiggle it?”

Huh.  Well, you didn’t know… so you reached in there, wiggled it around, and pulled it right out.

And then proceeded to lose your mind.

Because WHO KNEW your teeth could come out of your head?

Certainly not you.  Your parents never told you.  Shoot, we just started regular brushing last month!  Loosing teeth was the absolute last thing on our radar.  We’ve been busy with growing and walking and potty training.  And your brother.

Child, I am so sorry.  It was terribly traumatic.  You didn’t want to sleep with it under your pillow (because, you’re right, that’s weird), so we wrapped the tooth up and placed it on the kitchen island.  The Tooth Fairy came (Wow.  So much new information in one night.  Again, sorry.) and left you $5… because you are five.  And she took the tooth… maybe to give to Abby in a few months!  Who knows.  We were trying to make it better.  Fun.  Exciting.  An honor. Faily, fail, fail.

We dropped the ball.  Never saw it coming.  Your Olympic Spotlight story just got that much more interesting.

Let me just say, for the record, that re-living childhood through you is ridiculous.  How did we ever survive it ourselves?  You turn 5, you get ready to be sent on a big yellow bus to a school far away with people you don’t know, your arms and legs start getting too long for your body, and then, also, oh how ’bout your TEETH COME OUT?  And a  weird fairy comes? At night while you’re sleeping? And gives you money?  And TAKES THE TOOTH?  

The hack kinda world is this we’ve got you in?  Sunnuva. 

And we’re supposed to guide and prepare you?  For Pete’s sake.  I can’t even wash my car.

The rest of your teeth will be considerably less of an ordeal [fingers and eyes crossed].  But, the fact remains that you are growing up.  Sometimes we forget that.  We listen to you and we watch you and we think, “She’s so little.  She’s so very young for her age.”  And then your body goes and blows us into reality.  Overnight potty training, losing teeth, posting on horses.  Whatever.

Bless you my child.

You are my soul.

My deep, complicated, manic, gut-wrenching soul.

I get you.

[My Love.]

[My Heart.]

these are the days

Miss Abby June, you are 5 months old.  You are 13 pounds and 23 inches long.  You have grey/yellow/hazel eyes and some of your hair is white.  It matches your skin.  White.  Like yer daddy’s.

Your belly button smiles. You still wake up twice a night to eat, though you (we) have stopped nursing as of last week.  You are rolling over both ways, smiling, yelling, growling, but not eating solids yet… and we’re good with that. You are constantly in motion… twitching and rolling and kicking and swatting.  More of yer Daddy.

You are so loved and adored, Abby June!  You ride with us, walk with us, eat with us, chase cows with us, and basically anything else this farm throws your way.  You, my dear, are up for anything.  Go with the flow.  Easy come, easy go.  On it.  (That’s your mom in you.)

You are my love.

If your gate swings that way, here’s a video of the girl babbling.

Happy Monday, Friends!

[My heart.]

You’d think, wouldn’t you?

Gideon, if you want to go to the store with Dad and Rylie –in the truck- you need to put your coat on.

No.

Gideon, Ry and Dad are leaving –in the truck- in 5 minutes.  If you want to go, you need to be a big boy and put your coat on.

Nawo.

Gus-man.  Ry and Dad are leaving –in the truck.  Grab your coat.

NO!

You watched them from the big porch window… and as the truck turned onto the road and reality sunk in, you panicked.

You grabbed your coat off your hook.

You put it on upside-down and (obviously) unzipped.

You ran outside and down the driveway to the mailbox… but it was too late.

TRUUUUUUCK!

And so I watched you from the big porch window.  Your face red and spitting tears.  Walking back up the driveway so very slow.  It was a hard lesson… for both of us, trust me.

You climbed up the stairs and into the house.  You crawled onto the rug and sobbed in a little ball of HeartBreak.

They came back, of course… long after your tears dried and and your coat was hung back on the wall, they came back.  I told Dad it had been a character-shaping moment for you and we both sighed the sighs of parents who have children with wills of their own.

A half and hour later, he gave you another chance.  Because that’s the kind of dad he is.

Gid!  I’m going in the truck to check on the cows.  You wanna go?  Grab your coat!

And with all the self-esteem you could muster, you squared yourself to the window and yelled,

NO!

You are my heart, Kid.

My big tears, big smiles, wholly-feeling heart.

I love you.

[My love.]

1985-1989 • Erlangen

In 1985, my father was re-assigned to Erlangen, Germany just outside of Nurnberg.  He would serve with the Red Lions of 1/32 Armor and my mother would teach at the American school on the base. I can still see my father’s office… and I know that there are peanut m&ms in the bottom drawer.  Dad was promoted to First Sergeant (1SG) here and would be forevermore known as ‘Top.’

Top used to set me up at a table on the ground floor next to the coke machines to sell my Girl Scout cookies.  I like to think it was my fashion sense and personality- not my father’s rank- that put me at the top of sales every year.  Double Velcro Reebok Hi-tops, People.  Check it.

Once again (God bless them), my parents opted out of the ever-shifting environment of base housing and rented a house  in the little town of Baiersdorf.  Oma and Opa were our sweet landlords;  they had a German Shepard.  We drove 2 old BMWs with German license plates because Omar Qaddafi had made life difficult for foreigners overseas.  We memorized my fathers’ social security number and held tight to our military ID cards as proof of American citizenship.  Every day, multiple times a day, our car was checked for bombs at the front gate.

Our little post has since been returned to the town and the base has been re-developed.

We skied as  soon as there was snow and hiked when there was none, sometimes leaving before dawn to ski all day and then return the same night.  I don’t know what we actually looked like, but my brother and I felt like pros.  Danny was fearless and fast, his ego buoyed by his spiky hairdo.  He crashed a lot, and happily.  I was slower and did not fall often, but when I did it was spectacular.

Third Grade brought Ms. Durham and the first time my writing was recognized publically.  It was the year of the Challenger space shuttle disaster, and my essay was read alongside a fellow classmate’s.  His was beautiful and poetic, full of dreams and stars and possibility.  Mine, I believe, went something along the lines of ‘They knew there was a problem but did they listen?  Noooo. One minute after take-off and BOOM!’

Takin’ it to the streets, people.

Fourth Grade sent me to Ms. Kloss where I would become known for cleaning and organizing the other students’ desks during free time.  Once, I left a note in Carrie’s desk saying, “You. Are. Awesome!” and Ms. Kloss called me up to her desk.  I cried, thinking I was in trouble but she praised me for making another student feel special with such a small gesture.  That idea would never leave me.

Fifth Grade brought Mister Jones, who was missing a finger.  It was also the first time a boy would send me a love letter.  His mom was a teacher at school, too, so he thought it would be safer to put the note in my mom’s teacher mailbox instead of passing it during class.  That was un-awesome for me.  Subtlety is not in my mother’s vocabulary.  You know.

In sixth grade, I got the teacher everyone wanted (which NEVER happened to me), Ms. Skoogs.  Oddly enough, I remember nothing from this year except that my best friends’ names were Amy and Nicole.

I was in every play Mr. Levy directed.  We would practice after school and I would walk from the theater (the movie theater on base that doubled as our school auditorium) to the base library where I systematically read every book in the Youth Section alphabetically. That’s me there in my traditional drindl skirt playing the part of Peter’s girlfriend in the Pied Piper of Hamlin.  I don’t believe that role was ever offered again, I was that good.

In 1989, my father received orders for Colorado Springs, Colorado.  These would be changed, basically as we packed, to Fort Hood, Texas.

We all cried.

Did you have to move during your school years?

•

Timeline posts are a chance for me to get my life in order.  Literally.

1976-1978 • Belton

1978-1980 • Schonaich

1980-1985 • Fort Knox

We’re on our way.

Rylie Girl.

Monday afternoon we had your final IEP meeting before Kindergarten next year.  It was a chance to meet with all your current therapists and hear how the past year had progressed.  Everyone was there to brag on you, Ry!  Becky and Becky and Brenda and Jessie and Pete… and even Mrs. Rachel and Mrs. Karen for next year.  Mom and Dad… and everyone.  We all came.

As much as we focus on details- numbers and charts and progress and scales and standard deviations- I will leave those to your official files.  Let me tell you that in a year’s time, you are now age-level (and sometime ABOVE average!) in your gross motor skills!  Well, in everything but ball throwing… but that’s genetic.  Sorry.

A year ago, you were barely on the charts.  And what’s important is not that you can run and swing and jump… but that your body can do it without so much agonizing effort.  That you can (usually) catch yourself before you fall.  That you can run and keep up with the boys… and lawnmower.  That your body is not fighting itself AS MUCH as it was last year.  The gap- that huge chasm of difference- is slowly closing.  Because once Gross Motor closes, next comes Fine Motor.  And once Fine Motor gets more under control, then comes Speech.  And once Speech comes, Emotions.  And after all that, Disneyland and basic world domination.

We’ll take it.

Kindergarten here we come.

Get ready.

an idea

 My children are all at the age where they require multiple outfits a day.  Rylie is 5 and must change (everything) when a drop of water falls on her.  Or, if she feels like it.  Gideon is 2 and I’ll spare you the details. June Bug, at 4 months, regularly needs a change of outfit due to bodily malfunctions or siblings’ attempts to feed her.  Or color her.

We go through a lot of clothes.  For a girl who’s terrible at keeping up with laundry, well, this does not bode well.  [puts heads down on desk and cries a little]

Anyway.

I’m always on the lookout for garage sales.  And, as everyone knows, the universal sign for Garage Sale is neon pink poster board stapled to a telephone pole.  I spotted one from afar last week on my way home from errands.  We had half an hour before Ry was due for pickup from school, so I thought perhaps the rest of us would do a little browsing.

Imagine my annoyance when I slowed down and read this:

 Huh.

No garage sale, I guess. 

The next day, I noticed another sign about 100 yards past the first one.

And you know what?

They keep going.  For about 5 miles, there are these neon pink signs stapled up to telephone poles on Belding Road.  They talk about her smile and how she is kind and how he thinks she’s the greatest.

That man?  That man is fantastic.  He took $5 and 15 minutes and changed my whole day… and they’re not even my signs!  But I pass them, and I smile.  I think, “What a small gesture with such a huge impact!”  I think, “I hope I’m not the only one who kinda tears up when she passes these.”  I think, “Why the exclamation point after ‘love’?  I wish I could fix that for him.” 

We need more of this kind of greatness.

Earlier this year, I played along with Molly as she mailed out a boomboom raok card to a bunch of readers and we all emailed back with our stories.  I thought maybe we could do our own grass roots version here at TexasNorth.

Maybe you and your family could help me come up with a bajillion activity ideas and I’ll make up a bajillion activity assignment cards and mail them out to a bajillion people and we’ll all play together but separately and our kids will think it’s awesome and our husbands will play with us and our neighbors will think we’re crazy and we’ll make some memories and everyone wins!

The Kindness Project?  You’ll help me?  We’ll all put some KPs on our fridge this summer and go out like ninjas of fun and goodness?  Maybe, through a bunch of small ideas, we could help each other be creative and kind and happy.

I would so love that.  

Wanna?

Let’s play.

Small and big activity ideas: GO.

1980-1985 • Fort Knox

In 1980, my father received orders from the ARMY to head to Fort Knox, Kentucky… and thus, like ya do, we went.  My brother came, too.  We lived in base housing, or ‘quarters.’  Our address was 5473 D Kelly Street and there was a huge park and sledding hill at the end of our street.

In 1982, I started Kindergarten at Van Voorhis Elementary and walked to school everyday with all the other neighborhood kids.  My teacher was Ms. McCracken (Silence.  I will not tolerate name jokes.  She is sacred to me.) and she instilled my love for education and the Kentucky Wildcats.  I would become a lifetime fan of both.

In December of 1982, my mother graduated from the University of Louisville with a degree in Education (finally inishing what she was in the middle of when I was born).  I remember standing at the bottom of a round staircase as she took a cap-and-gown photo with her best girlfriends (Lynn Smith, Mom?  Is that a real person?).  I also remember being in a video for one of her senior class projects.  The soundtrack music was Dolly Parton’s 9 to 5.

Go ahead.  I’ll wait while you dance it out.

In first grade, I was chosen to represent my class at the school assembly… and announced the wrong teacher’s name.  The embarrassment was enough to make me block out the entire year from my memory, including my teacher’s name… correct or incorrect.  My face is red even as I type this.  I don’t want to talk about it anymore. [runs to her room, slams door]

Second grade brought Mr. Kirby, and learning to read (times and expectations have soooo changed).  It was also the year I went by ‘Mary‘ until Christmas break because I was too shy to ask him to change my name on the attendance roll the first day… and was stuck.  This is even MORE laughable because Mr. Kirby was a teacher alongside my mother and certainly knew I had never answered to ‘Mary’ before in my life.  God bless that man, he never gave me up until I was ready.

The crowning glory of Fort Knox was my 6th birthday party at Burger King.  It would be the one and only time I would have a party like the cool kids at a place with a play-land and vinyl booths.  It would also be the only year I would take a birthday photo without crying.  For such an occasion, one can only be expected to wear her blue E.T. pantsuit.  It had a belt with a silver buckle.

Go ahead.  I’ll wait while you dance it out.

The 80′s.  The Eighties were a w e s o m e.  Hey, Danny?  That’s a train on your red overalls over a  YELLOW TURTLENECK.  I’m wearing crushed velvet.  Dad, you are almost smiling.  Mom?  This is the last we will see of your trademark 70s hair.

The summer of 1985 brought new military orders for my father, and we headed back across the big water to (West) Germany again.

What was your kindergarten teacher’s name?

Timeline posts are a chance for me to get my life in order.  Literally.

1976-1978 • Belton

1978-1980 • Schonaich

the sound of silence

She is there every Sunday: hair in two, dark braids, khaki pants, red shirt.  She is maybe 14, and I do not know her story.  Surely she must be able to hear. Her timing and laughter and precision is impeccable.  But every Sunday, she signs.  She does not sing.  She chooses to sign.

I cannot take my eyes off her.  From my balcony view to her in the front row, we are miles apart… but I cannot take my eyes off her.

I do not sing at our new church.  Not up front like before, and sometimes not from the bleachers, either.  I love to listen to the people sing around me.  I love to watch the worship leaders, the band.  I love to mouth the words, to pray them silently.  But the music… the music is not in me right now.  It is a different season, one that will change… but one that, for now, is silent.

The girl in red, in the front row, she does not sing either.

She dances.  She is fluid and staccato and power all in one.

She worships.  With each beat, her hands tell a story.

And I cannot take my eyes off her.

She makes the lyrics come alive.  Her whole body sings and breathes and pauses.  Smiles and cries and claps and runs and sways.  For 20 minutes every Sunday, I am captivated by the story she tells.

I need to watch her.  To remember that it is one thing to sing… but it is another thing entirely to worship.

It is one thing to study but another to practice.

I hear her loud and clear.

Her silence is more beautiful than a choir of angels.

You, young woman with the beautiful hair and the story in your hands… you are stunning.  You are the very definition of putting action to words, and I am humbled by the sincerity display.

I am taking notes.  I will find my voice again, genuine and imperfect.  And I will remember, because of you, that God speaks through silence as easily as through books and preachers and fire.  That He is not listening to voices but to hearts.

Your heart is lovely.  And I cannot take my eyes off you.

what the what

Seriously.

Why do I even try?

No plants, or anything beautiful ever, real or fake, will survive this farm as long as Gideon and Blue are on the loose.

9:04am, right planter

12:34pm, left planter

4:40pm, back to the right again

Suggestions as to what, exactly, I could put on our large front step (which is about 4′ by 6′) that would be welcoming but indestructible are welcome and very much needed.  Go.

1978-1980 • Schonaich

['timline' posts are a chance for me to get my life in order.  Literally. Here's the first one: CLICK] 

In 1978, Dad received orders for Panzer Kaserne in Boeblingen, Germany.  Dad left early to start work and look for an apartment while mom and I (+Jack the basset hound) lived with my grandmother in Cleveland, waiting.

We found a 2nd floor apartment in Schonaich, Germany.  Our landlord was Frau Steiger, and she lived below us.  Her son was a teenager and would sleep late into the mornings.  We drove a red Opel with no car seats.  (Hey, let me know if you have trouble finding our car in the photo).

My first actual memories are from this place.  I see a yard with green grass.  I remember taking the picture with my guinea pig, Sunshine,  and her getting loose.  I remember my dad washing my hair and the shampoo getting in my eyes.  I remember getting stung by a bee under my arm and running up the stairs to Mom.  I remember a sandbox.  The neighbor girl was my best friend- Bilgert.  She had a little wooden play-house over the fence where we would sit and eat pretzel sticks.

My memory is short, though.  While I do not remember, it is certainly true that this is the trip I where would learn to downhill ski, where I would watch tv on the kitchen floor with my dad, where I would speak German like a native.

My brother joined us on December 19, 1979…. just before my 3rd birthday.  An ‘earlier’ birthday is the ultimate betrayal from a younger sibling.  I’m not sure I’m completely over it.

We did take some really cute pictures, though.

Man, that wallpaper is killing me.

In 1980, my father received orders for Fort Knox, Kentucky, and we headed back across the water.  With my brother.

Have you ever been overseas?