As those of you who follow my blog know, I've mentioned how freaky it is listening to the voices of my son and his friends. How they seem to have suddenly changed from boy voices to man voices overnight--with none of that squeaky in-between stuff that I expected. Well check out these 14- and 15-year-old Italian boys singing in some truly ultimate man voices. (PG-13 warning on the the lady host's attire! Could she be any more lowcut!)
Mommy, He's TOUCHING Me!
My 17-year-old daughter just made her brother cry. Real, blow-his-nose, tears-dripping-down-his-face crying. And not because she pinched him when I wasn’t looking, nor because she called him some awful name. It was because she wrote him an incredibly sweet, heartfelt letter about how much she loves and appreciates him, and hopes to become a better sister to him than she has been in the past. I know what you’re thinking and no I’m not dreaming.
Ashleigh has returned, from her recent mission trip to Guatemala, a changed young woman. More aware of the blessing her family (and particularly her little brother) is to her.
Once upon a time when Joshua was born, Ashleigh was initially curious, then annoyed with her new brother. Suddenly attention was being diverted from her 2-1/2-year-old cuteness to his adorable baby new-ness. I’d catch her “patting” him in such a way as to make me wonder whether she was truly patting him in love, or smacking him in irritation.
There was a brief smooth patch in their relationship when Joshua reached his toddler years. During that window of time, Ashleigh could pretty much get her little brother to do anything in exchange for the honor of playing with her, and having her undivided attention. Joshua adored (and still does) his big sister. Dress him up like a girl. Paint his toenails. Order him around. He was a willing accessory in her games of make believe.
I looked on smugly, certain they were going to be the rare exception and actually escape the whole sibling rivalry thing altogether. (Hark, dost thou hear the evil laughter in the background here?) Then…
KA-BLAM! It hit.
When they reached about the ages of 6 and 4, it seemed like they quarreled over every little thing. Who got to brush their teeth first, who got to hug the dog first in the morning, who got the “good” chair. And I absolutely could not stand it when they’d start fighting. I know the much-quoted parental advice on sibling rivalry is to “just let them work it out.” But I had a really hard time with that—especially when it came to name calling. No “S” words (“stupid”) or “D” words (“dumb”) on my watch!
As soon as I heard an unkind word or the start of a fight, I was in their faces, often forcing them to play the Compliment Game where I’d immediately sit them down and have them give three compliments to each other. The compliments had to be about qualities they genuinely admired in each other, and could not be something superficial like “I like your shirt.” After the first couple of times, this “GAME” drove them nuts.
“No, puhleeeze mama! Not compliments again!”
Other times I would shriek in frustration. “Stop it! Be nice to each other. Once daddy and I are gone you will only have each other!”
To be totally fair, their relationship wasn’t completely contentious. They had their occasional good moments. Like when I’d catch Ashleigh reading books to Joshua in the middle of the afternoon. Or when he’d share a last treasured piece of candy with her. But more often than not, if they weren’t busy doing something else, they were annoying each other.
Then, over the next decade, so slowly and so subtly I was hardly aware it was happening, their relationship changed—is changing. Now at 17 and 15, they are evolving into not only siblings, but friends, right before my eyes. And it is so cool!
All it took was a two-week mission trip to Guatemala.
And over ten years.
And nagging parents drilling it into their heads.
Yup. Seventeen years, parental nagging and a two-week mission trip. Cool, eh?
Ashleigh has returned, from her recent mission trip to Guatemala, a changed young woman. More aware of the blessing her family (and particularly her little brother) is to her.
Once upon a time when Joshua was born, Ashleigh was initially curious, then annoyed with her new brother. Suddenly attention was being diverted from her 2-1/2-year-old cuteness to his adorable baby new-ness. I’d catch her “patting” him in such a way as to make me wonder whether she was truly patting him in love, or smacking him in irritation.
There was a brief smooth patch in their relationship when Joshua reached his toddler years. During that window of time, Ashleigh could pretty much get her little brother to do anything in exchange for the honor of playing with her, and having her undivided attention. Joshua adored (and still does) his big sister. Dress him up like a girl. Paint his toenails. Order him around. He was a willing accessory in her games of make believe.
I looked on smugly, certain they were going to be the rare exception and actually escape the whole sibling rivalry thing altogether. (Hark, dost thou hear the evil laughter in the background here?) Then…
KA-BLAM! It hit.
When they reached about the ages of 6 and 4, it seemed like they quarreled over every little thing. Who got to brush their teeth first, who got to hug the dog first in the morning, who got the “good” chair. And I absolutely could not stand it when they’d start fighting. I know the much-quoted parental advice on sibling rivalry is to “just let them work it out.” But I had a really hard time with that—especially when it came to name calling. No “S” words (“stupid”) or “D” words (“dumb”) on my watch!
As soon as I heard an unkind word or the start of a fight, I was in their faces, often forcing them to play the Compliment Game where I’d immediately sit them down and have them give three compliments to each other. The compliments had to be about qualities they genuinely admired in each other, and could not be something superficial like “I like your shirt.” After the first couple of times, this “GAME” drove them nuts.
“No, puhleeeze mama! Not compliments again!”
Other times I would shriek in frustration. “Stop it! Be nice to each other. Once daddy and I are gone you will only have each other!”
To be totally fair, their relationship wasn’t completely contentious. They had their occasional good moments. Like when I’d catch Ashleigh reading books to Joshua in the middle of the afternoon. Or when he’d share a last treasured piece of candy with her. But more often than not, if they weren’t busy doing something else, they were annoying each other.
Then, over the next decade, so slowly and so subtly I was hardly aware it was happening, their relationship changed—is changing. Now at 17 and 15, they are evolving into not only siblings, but friends, right before my eyes. And it is so cool!
All it took was a two-week mission trip to Guatemala.
And over ten years.
And nagging parents drilling it into their heads.
Yup. Seventeen years, parental nagging and a two-week mission trip. Cool, eh?
Quote of the Month
"You may be disappointed if you fail, but you are doomed if you don't try."
~ Beverly Sills ~
Image by: Holly Bowne
Unaccompanied Minor
Monday we took our daughter to the airport to fly to Guatemala on a mission trip. ALONE. Her first mission trip. Her first time flying alone.
We didn’t even let our kids do sleepovers until they were in the fourth grade. We didn’t allow them to watch PG movies until they were nine, and PG-13 movies until they actually WERE 13. Now we’re letting our daughter travel to a tiny Central American country. By herself!
Logically, I know she’s 17-1/2 years old. I know she’ll be a senior in high school next year, and after that she’ll head off to college and onto new adventures of her own. Logically, I knew I was going to miss her.
But I think, without realizing it, I’d been suppressing certain thoughts and feelings. And they all bubbled to the surface when we checked her in at the airport and I discovered that I would not be permitted to accompany her to the gate and onto the plane.
My hubby flies a lot for work, so he’s got some fancy schmancy card that allows him (& us when we travel with him) to sail through shorter check-in lines, and sit in comfy clubs nibbling on snacks and sipping ice-cold beverages, while the regular non-fancy-schmancy-card folk have to herd like sheep through endlessly long lines and stuff.
So once we’d checked her in, my hubby confidently requested guest passes for me, our son, and himself, so we could accompany our “unaccompanied minor” through the airport.
“Sorry, no.” we were told. “We can allow only one adult through.”
“What?!”
“But we have a fancy schmancy card! And she’s an unaccompanied minor traveling far, far away, to a scary place for TWO REALLY, REALLY LONG WEEKS.”
“Sorry, no.”
We spoke to a manager. We carefully re-explained the situation.
“Sorry, no.” (Yeesh! Did these people take Jim Fay’s “Love & Logic” parenting classes or what?!)
“You’ll have to say good-bye here,” I was told.
It wasn’t until that very moment that I realized how precarious my emotions really were. I warned them that if they didn’t let me through I’d throw a tantrum. Unfortunately for them, they didn’t believe me. I burst into tears. But those cruel, heartless airport personnel didn’t care! Nope. They made me say good-bye right at the entrance of the BIG, STUPID airport.
I had to stand off to the side, like the shunned, while she moved with her dad through the security check and then ultimately disappeared from my sight. Swallowed up by the crowd.
I felt incredibly deflated.
My son could have accompanied his sister, since he’s a “minor” too, and therefore not considered a security threat like my five-foot-tall self was I suppose. But he sweetly offered to sit with me, trying to entertain me with his cool iPod Touch games for an hour while I pouted. As I sat there wallowing in self pity, I felt even worse when I realized this is only a taste of what it will be like just one year from now.
I remember somebody once telling me that God made kids grow into teenagers so that by the time they leave home you’re ready for them to leave home.
But I confess, so far it’s not workin’ for me. I like hanging out with my teens. When I think about Ashleigh going off to college, it’s going to leave a really big hole that I can’t imagine filling right now. And when it’s Joshua’s turn…oi! I can’t even go there!
I know this is the whole point behind raising these kids we’ve been blessed with. Helping them to have the confidence to step out and carve their own special niche in the world. But when that time really comes, I now have no doubt; it’s going to be incredibly hard to…say good-bye.
Image by: The Shane H
We didn’t even let our kids do sleepovers until they were in the fourth grade. We didn’t allow them to watch PG movies until they were nine, and PG-13 movies until they actually WERE 13. Now we’re letting our daughter travel to a tiny Central American country. By herself!
Logically, I know she’s 17-1/2 years old. I know she’ll be a senior in high school next year, and after that she’ll head off to college and onto new adventures of her own. Logically, I knew I was going to miss her.
But I think, without realizing it, I’d been suppressing certain thoughts and feelings. And they all bubbled to the surface when we checked her in at the airport and I discovered that I would not be permitted to accompany her to the gate and onto the plane.
My hubby flies a lot for work, so he’s got some fancy schmancy card that allows him (& us when we travel with him) to sail through shorter check-in lines, and sit in comfy clubs nibbling on snacks and sipping ice-cold beverages, while the regular non-fancy-schmancy-card folk have to herd like sheep through endlessly long lines and stuff.
So once we’d checked her in, my hubby confidently requested guest passes for me, our son, and himself, so we could accompany our “unaccompanied minor” through the airport.
“Sorry, no.” we were told. “We can allow only one adult through.”
“What?!”
“But we have a fancy schmancy card! And she’s an unaccompanied minor traveling far, far away, to a scary place for TWO REALLY, REALLY LONG WEEKS.”
“Sorry, no.”
We spoke to a manager. We carefully re-explained the situation.
“Sorry, no.” (Yeesh! Did these people take Jim Fay’s “Love & Logic” parenting classes or what?!)
“You’ll have to say good-bye here,” I was told.
It wasn’t until that very moment that I realized how precarious my emotions really were. I warned them that if they didn’t let me through I’d throw a tantrum. Unfortunately for them, they didn’t believe me. I burst into tears. But those cruel, heartless airport personnel didn’t care! Nope. They made me say good-bye right at the entrance of the BIG, STUPID airport.
I had to stand off to the side, like the shunned, while she moved with her dad through the security check and then ultimately disappeared from my sight. Swallowed up by the crowd.
I felt incredibly deflated.
My son could have accompanied his sister, since he’s a “minor” too, and therefore not considered a security threat like my five-foot-tall self was I suppose. But he sweetly offered to sit with me, trying to entertain me with his cool iPod Touch games for an hour while I pouted. As I sat there wallowing in self pity, I felt even worse when I realized this is only a taste of what it will be like just one year from now.
I remember somebody once telling me that God made kids grow into teenagers so that by the time they leave home you’re ready for them to leave home.
But I confess, so far it’s not workin’ for me. I like hanging out with my teens. When I think about Ashleigh going off to college, it’s going to leave a really big hole that I can’t imagine filling right now. And when it’s Joshua’s turn…oi! I can’t even go there!
I know this is the whole point behind raising these kids we’ve been blessed with. Helping them to have the confidence to step out and carve their own special niche in the world. But when that time really comes, I now have no doubt; it’s going to be incredibly hard to…say good-bye.
Image by: The Shane H
Time Flies
I took my son parking-lot driving several weeks ago. He’s signed up to take driver’s ed over summer break, and I thought he should get in a little practice time before the big event. We’d done the exact same thing with his older sister. So I figured “no big deal” when we pulled into the empty high school parking lot. I put the van in park and climbed out, entering the passenger side while he slid over into the driver’s seat.
Over the past year, my boy has undergone a lot of changes. In my opinion, it seems boys’ pubescent changes occur more quickly and dramatically than girls’. When I look at his school picture from the beginning of the school year, vs. how he looks now at the end of the year, I’m stunned.
His face has lost most of its baby-like softness, appearing more toned. And there’s a whisper of dark hair skipping above his upper lip. He’s shot up in height, starting out the year shorter than me, and is now five inches taller. He’s developing muscles, which he enjoys flexing in front of my face whenever he gets the chance. (What is it with boys and flexing their biceps? My brothers used to do the same thing!)
Most shocking has been the sudden onset of his “man-voice.” What happened to that squeaky in-between phase? I swear boys are just skipping that phase all together now!
(Remember Pete in the Brady Bunch? “Time to Change”)
But as bizarre as all that other stuff has been, NOTHING has freaked me out as much as seeing my BABY behind the wheel of our van.
“This is too weird. I can’t do this. You have to trade me back seats,” I’d said.
He’d given me a look. “Mom. C’mon!”
“I’m serious. This is freaking me out. You’re not old enough to drive a car!”
“But you did this with Ashleigh at the same age!”
“It doesn’t matter. I can’t explain it, but it just doesn’t feel right.”
He’d refused to budge, and after taking some deep breaths, I’d finally calmed down.
As I directed him to drive in large circles around the lot, I thought about what he’d said. It was true. I’d done the exact same thing with his older sister. So why was I freaked out over having
him do the same thing at the same age?
Is this why the youngest child in a family sometimes takes longer to “grow up”? Is it because we freaked out parents try to hang onto our “babies” as long as we can?
As the left-hand circles he drove got smaller and smaller, I thought about how time with my kids, AS kids, is getting shorter and shorter. I remember when they were little, and I was doing the full-time stay-at-home mom deal. We’d flow through our days, playing, attending toddler gym & art classes, running errands. Occasionally a smiling older person would walk up, delighting in the antics of my little darlings, as they shoved clothing racks aside to play tag in stores while I exasperatedly tried to shop.
I’d puff out sighs, feeling exhausted. And they’d always say something like, “Enjoy them while they’re little like this. The time goes by so quickly.” Then a bittersweet smile would flicker across their lips as they’d turn away. At the time, I couldn’t relate at all. When my oldest finally reached the age of five, it felt like it had taken five long years to get there. But once the kids got into school, without me noticing at first, time started to speed up.
Now, I can’t believe I have a 17 and an almost-15 year old. How did it suddenly get to the point where I have only a few short years left with them? It’s like the realization has finally struck. Wait a minute. This is real. They’re actually growing up on me. Instead of getting kids to share a toy, or settling an argument over a T.V. program, I’m facing a lot scarier stuff. Like handing over the car keys.
Time IS really starting to fly. I’ve decided my new goal is to focus on savoring each precious day with them. Yup. I’m gonna treasure every little—oh my gosh! I just realized something. In another year my youngest will be 16, and he can start dating! What were we thinking? Sixteen isn’t old enough to date! No. Definitely not. Uh-uh. Not happening. We’re going to have to talk about this.
Over the past year, my boy has undergone a lot of changes. In my opinion, it seems boys’ pubescent changes occur more quickly and dramatically than girls’. When I look at his school picture from the beginning of the school year, vs. how he looks now at the end of the year, I’m stunned.
His face has lost most of its baby-like softness, appearing more toned. And there’s a whisper of dark hair skipping above his upper lip. He’s shot up in height, starting out the year shorter than me, and is now five inches taller. He’s developing muscles, which he enjoys flexing in front of my face whenever he gets the chance. (What is it with boys and flexing their biceps? My brothers used to do the same thing!)
Most shocking has been the sudden onset of his “man-voice.” What happened to that squeaky in-between phase? I swear boys are just skipping that phase all together now!
(Remember Pete in the Brady Bunch? “Time to Change”)
But as bizarre as all that other stuff has been, NOTHING has freaked me out as much as seeing my BABY behind the wheel of our van.
“This is too weird. I can’t do this. You have to trade me back seats,” I’d said.
He’d given me a look. “Mom. C’mon!”
“I’m serious. This is freaking me out. You’re not old enough to drive a car!”
“But you did this with Ashleigh at the same age!”
“It doesn’t matter. I can’t explain it, but it just doesn’t feel right.”
He’d refused to budge, and after taking some deep breaths, I’d finally calmed down.
As I directed him to drive in large circles around the lot, I thought about what he’d said. It was true. I’d done the exact same thing with his older sister. So why was I freaked out over having
him do the same thing at the same age?
Is this why the youngest child in a family sometimes takes longer to “grow up”? Is it because we freaked out parents try to hang onto our “babies” as long as we can?
As the left-hand circles he drove got smaller and smaller, I thought about how time with my kids, AS kids, is getting shorter and shorter. I remember when they were little, and I was doing the full-time stay-at-home mom deal. We’d flow through our days, playing, attending toddler gym & art classes, running errands. Occasionally a smiling older person would walk up, delighting in the antics of my little darlings, as they shoved clothing racks aside to play tag in stores while I exasperatedly tried to shop.
I’d puff out sighs, feeling exhausted. And they’d always say something like, “Enjoy them while they’re little like this. The time goes by so quickly.” Then a bittersweet smile would flicker across their lips as they’d turn away. At the time, I couldn’t relate at all. When my oldest finally reached the age of five, it felt like it had taken five long years to get there. But once the kids got into school, without me noticing at first, time started to speed up.
Now, I can’t believe I have a 17 and an almost-15 year old. How did it suddenly get to the point where I have only a few short years left with them? It’s like the realization has finally struck. Wait a minute. This is real. They’re actually growing up on me. Instead of getting kids to share a toy, or settling an argument over a T.V. program, I’m facing a lot scarier stuff. Like handing over the car keys.
Time IS really starting to fly. I’ve decided my new goal is to focus on savoring each precious day with them. Yup. I’m gonna treasure every little—oh my gosh! I just realized something. In another year my youngest will be 16, and he can start dating! What were we thinking? Sixteen isn’t old enough to date! No. Definitely not. Uh-uh. Not happening. We’re going to have to talk about this.
Image by Cosmic Spanner
Who Says I Can't?
I saw this really funny Mother’s Day card back in May. It had a picture of a 1950’s June Cleaver style mom, complete with pearl necklace—her arm around a pouting, incredibly sad-looking little boy. And the caption read something like: “You stay right here sweetie, while mommy goes and gives that mean old bully a smackdown.”That totally cracked me up! Because, it’s so true. Any mom will tell you, mess with our kids and you’ll bring out our inner lioness.
And it’s not just confined to dealing with bullies. It makes no difference if they’re toddlers, or teens (who are bigger than we are), the instinct to protect our cubs arises in any situation where we feel our child is in peril.
The other day my 14-year-old son, Joshua’s, soccer team was playing in the pouring rain. While we parents stood on the sidelines, sinking into the mud, I suddenly noticed Joshua double over, then raise his hand in a request to come off the field.
He NEVER does that.
He sat down on the bench, remaining doubled over, his arms wrapped tightly around his ribs.
“Why is Joshua doing that? Did anybody see what happened?” I asked anxiously.
I received several negative murmurs in response.
“Is it his ribs? Did someone hit him in the ribs?”
“Dunno.”
“Didn’t see.”
I waited several long minutes, my eyes glued to Joshua’s still doubled-over form.
“I’m going over there,” I announced, and began marching around the field’s perimeter.
“You can’t do that.”
I was halted by another team member’s father.
“Why not.”
“You have to wait and see if the coach waves you over.”
“Why?”
“That’s just how it works.”
“But the coach isn’t even looking at him! He’s watching the game!”
The man shrugged sympathetically.
“Well that’s just stupid!” I fumed, sloshing back through the mud. “What if something is really wrong? What if one of his ribs is broken?” What if he needs emergency medical attention? (Have I mentioned before that I tend to have a somewhat, er high-strung personality type? Anyway…)
I stood there waiting a few more minutes. Joshua remained doubled over.
“This is ridiculous,” I finally said. “That’s it. I’m going over there.”
“Don’t do it.” Another dad stood in my path.
“Why can’t I go over there?” I was whining now.
He proceeded to share a story with me, about how when he was 15, and playing baseball, a boy on his team got hit by the ball. The boy’s teammates helped him off the field and onto a bench in the dugout. The boy’s mother raced over and said (in front of everyone) “Are you okay, sweet pea! Let mama check out that bump?” Naturally, the kid was mortified. Probably scarred for life.
“But I would never call Joshua, ‘sweet pea’!” I huffed.
The dad just shook his head at me.
I stood there several more minutes, sighing dramatically every few seconds.
“Would you like me to go over and check on him?” he finally offered, taking pity on me. (Or possibly hoping to escape my dramatic sighing.)
I turned hopeful eyes toward him. “Would you?!”
The nice man trudged around to the other side of the field. I saw him speak briefly to Joshua—still doubled over—then he trudged back.
“Well? Should I call an ambulance?”
“It’s just a stomach ache,” he grinned.
“Oh. Uh—thanks.” I mumbled sheepishly.
For the remainder of the game, though, I wondered why it was okay for another player’s dad to walk over there, but not the player’s mom. Weird ‘sweet pea’ mom story aside, who made up this unwritten rule that if a kid gets hurt on the field, it’s not okay for the mom to check on her very own child?
I posed that very question to my son later, as we drove home from the game.
My boy stopped toweling dry his hair, turned his beautiful dark eyes in my direction, and answered me. “Kids did, mom. Kids made up that rule.”
“Oh.”
A Little Something to Brighten Your Day...
Nothing like a little Julie Andrews to brighten your day. A friend sent me this YouTube link. The video was made in the Antwerp , Belgium Central (Train) Station on March 23, 2009.
". . . with no warning to the passengers passing through the station, at 8:00 a.m., a recording of Julie Andrews singing 'Do, Re, Mi' began to play on the public address system. As the bemused passengers watch in amazement, some 200 dancers began to appear from the crowd and station entrances. They created this amazing stunt with just two rehearsals." Enjoy!
". . . with no warning to the passengers passing through the station, at 8:00 a.m., a recording of Julie Andrews singing 'Do, Re, Mi' began to play on the public address system. As the bemused passengers watch in amazement, some 200 dancers began to appear from the crowd and station entrances. They created this amazing stunt with just two rehearsals." Enjoy!
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