Thinking Only

Today has been one of those unscheduled days. If you know me, you know I don't do well unscheduled. If there is no plan for the day, I'm left feeling a bit undone. Frayed at the edges. I accomplish nothing on these days. For some, that may be bliss. For me, it's a waste of my waking hours.

In between spurts of doing loads of laundry and sitting on the couch, I found myself thinking. It's the one thing I've actually accomplished today. Maybe the last 12 hours wasn't a wash after all. Here are the thoughts that have simmered in my mind--

* I've put no thought towards summer. I haven't formulated any kind of a plan. None. Summer starts in 4 days. I'm dead in the water.

* I can't seem to force myself to wear shorts. It's hotter than the face of the sun here, but I just can't slip them on. You wanna know why? My legs are white. Super scary white. I'm going to have to find a way to get over it.

* I undermine my sister's authority as a parent. It's not nice, but I still do it. Tonight she said that the baby couldn't have a candy bar, but I gave it to her anyway. Keagan wanted it, and I have a tendency to let her have whatever she wants. I can't help it. Maybe I can work on this character flaw while I'm devising a way to wear my shorts.

* When we lived in Utah, we had a babysitter that became a 2nd mom to my kids. She was a much better mother than I ever will be. She started babysitting for me when she was 12. This weekend she graduated from high school. Today I thought about her. She is everything I would hope for my girls to become. If her mom were ever willing to give her up, I'd happily keep her forever.

* Today is a day for remembering. A Memorial Day. It feels like tradition tells me to visit my dad's grave. You would think this is an easy task. His cemetery is down the street. But yet, I can't. I don't like it there. I only seem to be able to stand at the sight where I last saw his coffin, on his birthday and Father's Day. Some people find immense peace where their love is buried. I do not. Every time I am there, the air feels more still and my mind travels to places that seem to lengthen the hole in my heart. So today I choose to remember him here, instead of there.

I hope that you have had a Memorial Day filled with good memories...and a little bit of thinking.

The Thread That Weaves Us Together

My brother and his family live in Chicago. But for this weekend, they were Texans. Cousins make me happy. They play, they giggle and they find true joy in being together.


My nieces are beautiful. Fortunate for them, they look nothing like my brother.


We partied. We ate. We played games. We had fun.


We also had a water balloon fight that transferred to a car wash.


These last 3 days, we have soaked up as much cousin love as possible. All 8 girls in one big pile.


There is something definitively more remarkable about being with family. It's entirely different than everyday friendships. It's closer. The bond woven tighter. These 8 are varied in personality and age. Some live in different states. But yet, when they all come together, the distance seems to disappear.

At the core of being together is something not seen on the surface. It is a thread that weaves through them all and ties each one to the next. It's a thread that can't be severed. Ever. It's a thread that seems to stretch to include each member. Growing in length when a new addition arrives. When a trial seems to surface anywhere within this circle, the thread instinctively cinches everyone tighter together, so that we may hold one another up. The strength of us all together is far greater than each of us on our own.

For this weekend, I seemed to catch a glimpse of that thread. I saw it in laughter, in hugs and in sad goodbyes. The distance may be far, but I'm quite positive that our family circle will stretch to fill in all the gaps.

She Leaps

She took a leap today. As her mother, it feels like a giant leap. To her, it simply feels like moving forward. Her elementary life found closure, while her horizons are beginning to open into junior high.

There is a core group of moms who have worked a ridiculous amount of hours to prepare for a grand party that lasted a mere 3 hours. We were exhausted before the party even started. But, for those 3 hours, 140 students had a chance to celebrate the final stages of 5th grade.
For most of the day, she refused all my pleas to have her picture taken. I tried to sneak up on her, beg and even plead. Much to no avail.

But somehow, in the briefest of a moment, she let me have my way. Her glow-in-the-dark glasses may have weakened her resolve.

The life of a parent seems to be celebrated in the smallest of moments. They are found at those times when life seems to stand still and you become fully aware of how fast it's speeding by. The first day of kindergarten feels juxtaposed to the last day of 5th grade. The time that has passed in between, has gone too quickly.

So today, I watched her leap. Bounding with all the energy she always carries with her. And so I shall do my best to leap with her. Ever mindful of this day and all that I witnessed in her.

Onward to her future that is ahead...

The End Draws Nigh

7 is such a small, teensy number. One week. That's it. One meesely week. 7 days from today, at 3:25 pm, they will descend from the bus for the last time. Then summer will begin. The freedom from routine will be welcomed. But the constant bickering and the need to be endlessly entertained, will not.

I think that for a mother, summer is just like having a baby. Before it's arrival, you view what's up ahead with joy and excitement. But then, when you're living it in the moment, you realize that reality just isn't as pleasant as you thought it would be.

Don't misinterpret my murmuring. I love my kids. I'm (somewhat) glad that school is coming to a close. But, here's the deal--summer sucks away my remaining sanity. It just does. I'm pretty sure that my kids are the biggest factor. They are just not normal. But then again, neither am I.

So, my plan for this next week, is to stock pile sanity and patience. If I have any extras, I'll let you borrow some. I'm going to try and channel all those good mothers who continually have a smile on their face and never yell at their children. I think I'll even get a pedicure and try to soak up all the quiet I can find. Then, I'll be ready. I think.

So many people have asked me recently if I have plans for the summer. I only ever have one response, "just try to stay alive." If you have ever been to our house for dinner, you know that's a lofty goal.

7. Days.

Personal Best

This weekend, Sam ran the 1500 (that's a little shy of a mile) in 5 minutes/52 seconds. She almost doubled over with happiness that she broke the 6 minute mark. Considering the fact that it was 328 degrees outside, her happiness was amplified. Maybe she was imagining that she was running toward cooler weather.

After the race, I realized that her finishing time matches the same amount of time that I can eat an entire cake by myself. I'm kindof talented like that. And I don't even break a sweat. Like mother, like daughter.

I'm A Special Kind Of Crazy

I yearn to turn chaos into order. This longing sits deep within me. I find true joy in an organized closet. My heart beats faster when I open the Martha Stewart magazine issue on putting everything in it's place. This need to order all that's around me is a sick disease. Sure, it looks nice once it's finished. But then real life takes hold, and nothing is returned to it's assigned spot.

I fed my sickness today by organizing the medicine cabinet. Yes, we have an entire cabinet devoted to pills. I like to think of it as more of an homage. Behold the disarray:


Now it is all nicely contained. It's pretty and labeled. Defined categorizes now exist. My soul now feels settled knowing that all this medicine is organized:


But by tomorrow, my crazy will set in. It will start as soon as someone doesn't put a bottle back where it belongs. Or, heaven forbid, someone switches the bins around. I'm closing my eyes and cringing.


For today, I'm keeping the cabinet open. Just so I can look at it. Starting tomorrow, I'll keep it closed and pretend that everything is perfect behind closed doors. Hey, that's what I do with the girl's bedrooms. I shall silently repeat, "there's no place like an organized home, there's no place like and organized home...."

Wonder

Child #3 is my deepest thinker. She asks questions about things that I have never had the need to think about. Lately, a lot of her questions are about death. "When you die, do you stay the same age? Do you keep having birthdays?" Or, this is one I get quite frequently, "When you die, will you still be my mom?" I always assure her that I will. But, I'm starting to wonder if she keeps repeating the question in hopes of a different answer.

Last night, Addie and Todd were driving in the car. She asked him "Is the moon big? Because, it doesn't look big. But, I bet if we could pull it down here, right by us, it would look big." Such imaginative thinking for a 7 year old.

At what point do we stop wondering? How old are we when we no longer use our imagination to solve life's mysteries, or ask fascinating questions? I look at my youngest and realize that I no longer 'wonder' about life like she does. I'm not really sure I even did as a child. But maybe I did, just a little.

Does life just become so busy, so stressful, and so noisy that we can't make room to imagine? I tend to wonder about tedious things. I lay in bed at night and wonder where all the forks have gone. Crazy, but true. It's a mystery. They just slowly disappear. Do the kids take them to school or hide them under beds? I'm not sure. Thus, I wonder.

Maybe adults simply become wired not to think about pulling the moon down beside you. We grow up and tend to see life as simply that...Life. What if we slowed down enough to really 'see'? We just might find the wonder in the smallest of moments all around us. We just might find ourselves actually appreciating everything that's in our Life. And maybe, just maybe, I would discover one or two missing forks.