End Times

Today is an end time. The 2012-2013 school year ends in our district. I no longer have 4th and 7th graders. I have 5th and 8th graders.

This summer, George needs to teach the 8th grader to shave. That's a beginning time.

People dislike change in general, but end times and beginning times happen all the time. Things stop. Other things start. When I read the final period on the Harry Potter series, I felt a sense of loss. It took weeks to settle on new reading material. This often happens to me. How can I move on when I'm still imaginatively inhabiting a book that is over? But there's always another book to read, to breathe in, to inhabit. I'll find a new one...and pretty quickly, too.

We just don't want things to end. A lot of moms lament the natural aging process of their children. They want their babies to stay babies, their toddlers to stay toddlers, their preschoolers to stay preschoolers, their grade-schoolers to stay grade-schoolers.

But no one in their right mind wants their teenagers to stay teenagers. Nature helps us out by that point, don't you think? 

I loved school and everything about it (even homework because I was weird), but I loved the end of school, too. Summer break, is, after all, the kid equivalent of a Hawaiian vacation. Plus, I got grades for the year, the measure of my performance and proof positive that I was smart enough.

Smart enough for what? That's a question I never really asked.

Right now, I'm smart enough to know that in three months I will celebrate the end time of summer and beginning time of another school year with an enthusiasm that will likely reduce me to tears of joy and relief when I sip my morning coffee in a quiet house after three months of nonstop noise.

But today's end time/beginning time is pretty joyful, too. Well, except for the pink eye, but we can't have everything we want, can we? For almost three months, I don't have to drive Jack to and from school. I don't have to pack lunches for three people every night...just for one. I don't have to check homework. I don't have to remember a whacky volunteer schedule.

Instead, my boys and I will putter. The boys will both have some summer work to do to earn their screen time, and I'll have to stay on them to get the work done before the play. We'll go to the library and museums and pools and playgrounds and movies. We'll take the dog for walks, bake cookies, and eat ice cream. We'll go on a serious road trip in July. We'll watch birds at the feeder and fireflies lighting up the night. We'll hang out with friends and shop for school and in August we'll wonder where our summer went.

It'll be the end times again. Or beginning times, depending on your glass-half-full/empty orientation. And they will be good times.

Are you looking forward to summer? How do you cope with ends and beginnings? Do you resist or relent?

Gratitude Journal #189

Today, I am grateful to all who have given their all in service to the United States of America. This Memorial Day, please remember those who have died in service. Our family particularly remembers George's great uncle George Paloranta, who died fighting in the Philippines in World War II. Also, please remember that while we often count war dead, every year a number of soldiers, sailors, airmen, and marines die in training accidents. What these men and women do is not only dangerous during war...it's dangerous in training. Paratroopers chutes don't open, guns misfire, planes crash. Let us remember all who made the ultimate sacrifice for our flag.

Today, I am grateful for freedom, for faith, and for family that honors service.

Today, I am grateful for friends who are kind.

What are you grateful for today?

I've Got a Dream...

Did you see the movie Tangled? If not, please go watch this video of its song "I've Got a Dream" and come back.

And now you're back. Cute, eh?

Everyone's got a dream, sometimes even several dreams at once. We might even have contradictory dreams. For example, my in-laws dreamed of living in the desert, and they dreamed of a dust-free and tumbleweed-free life. They got the beautiful Colorado desert, dust, and tumbleweeds. I dreamed of living in a perfectly clean house, and I dreamed of having a husband, children, and a furry dog. I got wonderful husband, children, a furry dog, and more mess than I know what to do with.

Alas, not all our dreams come true.

Our dreams tend to change over time, and once we fulfill a dream or determine that a dream isn't do-able or our dream gets crushed by life in some tragic way, we need to replace it with another dream.

Sometimes, our dreams are, as the song says, grotesquely optimistic, and at other times, our dreams are incredibly low-achieving. Right now, I dream to be free of whatever virus has taken over my upper respiratory system. All I have to do is let my immune system do its thing and try to be patient, and that dream will come true.

Whenever you share your dreams with others, you're bound to get a response. Frequently, it's not a response you want. For instance, people avoid me because they don't want to get this crud themselves. I don't want to be Typhoid Mary, but here I am, world. Walk away. Walk away quickly!

People have also denied there's any reason for my dream because, according to them, I'm not sick at all. Jack asked me to cut up some watermelon for him a few days ago, and when I said I but didn't feel like wielding a knife, he told me, "You feel fine, Mom. You can do it!"

My dream has also provoked a lot of advice...chamomile tea bags for my eyes, vitamin C for my cold, honey for my sore throat, wine for my whine, and so forth. I like this advice. Especially the wine and the chamomile tea bags.

So yesterday, I sat in my car waiting to pick Jack up at school, listening to NPR between coughing spells. Someone mentioned advice for graduates, and the guest said something very unpoetic: graduates should find something they like doing and work really hard at it.

Find something you like doing and work really hard at it.

I like that.

At certain points in my life, I've had a great deal of focus. When I was in school, for instance, I dreamed of good grades and advanced degrees. I liked school, worked hard at it, and did really well. It was all very satisfying.

At other times in my life, like right now, I've sort of lost my focus. In fact, there are about twenty different dreams I want to work on all at once, and it's sort of overwhelming. I need to follow George's example and get some focus.

Among his many interests, George likes triathlon, and this year he's tackling his seventh Ironman race. Lucky number seven! In the build-up to that race, he's doing shorter ones: sprint and Olympic distance. He'll work hard to put in the miles swimming, biking, and running so on race day he can fulfill his dream: to finish the 2013 IM Moo race and come home with a medal and a t-shirt.

I like writing, and I actually write a lot of things: this blog, two other blogs, notes to my kids' teachers, emails, and such. I enjoy all this writing very much, but it feels like I'm doing a bunch of sprint and Olympic distance writing. Like George and his pursuit of Ironman, I'm feeling the need to kick up the writing dream a notch.

This year I'm tackling my first book. For those of you who read my stamping blog, this is good news as many of you have harassed me for years to do just this. My house might will get messier, but by golly, I've got a dream!

What's your dream? What would you like to accomplish in 2013? Don't worry if your dream is small(if you just had a baby, perhaps it might be the dream to shower daily!) or grotesquely optimistic (to create peace in the Middle East). Please share!!!

Gratitude Journal #188

Today, I am grateful the red-bellied woodpeckers are back. Our nesting pair has been hard at work all weekend making its nest, pecking out a bigger hole, spitting the shavings out of the hole, and generally getting ready. What fun to see them hard at work!

Today, I am grateful for the goldfinches that visit our feeder, looking so brilliant in their summer plumage.

Today, I am grateful to have my voice back, even if it is uncharacteristically deep and hoarse.

Today, I am grateful for my husband's talent at barbecue.

Today, I am grateful for Nick's comments as he tries to figure out life. He recently tried to explain his short attention span: "I like lots of things." George and I both told him that is a wonderful way to live. I immediately thought of this quotation:



Source

I decided not to tell Nick this. I hope his life turns out a little happier than Van Gogh's did!

Today, I am grateful for bird song, breezes, and blossoms.

Today, I am grateful for this reminder:

Source

What are you grateful for today?

Things on Thursday: Still Life of My Parents' Desk

Having easy-to-use technology means you never know who uses your device and for what nefarious purpose. New apps magically appear on my iPhone and Nook...apps I would never download, such as Marvel Comics and Subway Surf.

Boys and my toys.

So I was not surprised to download pictures from my camera yesterday and find a photo essay (of sorts) snapped by my younger son, who has been home sick for three days. He's not been very sick...just sick enough with a head cold and pink eye not to go to school.

It's always interesting to see what Jack considers photo-worthy. Over the years, we have collected several hundred digital photos of Jack's hands and feet. He also likes taking pictures of rocks, the dog, shows on television, and furniture.

His photography style is unique. He likes shooting from odd angles, moving around in space and aiming his lens at any ordinary thing, finding sometimes brilliant new ways of looking at something entirely mundane.

One of his photos from this week captures a moment in the life of my desk and my husband's desk. This one shot of our messy desks says a lot. Which is sort of scary for some reason.

Still Life of My Parents' Desks

1. Two computers. Our desks face each other, and every night, we sit at them and do the important work of surfing Pinterest and sharing funny pictures with each other. The screen you see belongs to my brand new computer George bought when my old one crashed. I'm lovin' that new computer. It's fast.

2. My beautiful Mother's Day pop-up card from George. It's different from his hand-made Mother's Day cards, which have occasionally featured a stamp of a B-1 bomber. I delivered two payloads of bouncing baby boy, and George well remembers how both of them were dropped when he was sleep-deprived from flying that bomber. I love those handmade cards because he makes them.

But I also love the water lilies and dragonflies of the pop-up card a whole lot. And the glitter. Ohmygosh, it has glitter! George bought the card at the Dayton Art Institute, where his team from work went for a day of enrichment and fun. George isn't exactly the type of person who uses the words art institute and fun in the same sentence (unless there's a not thrown in). But he actually really enjoyed the day spent looking at art, which goes to show the value of breaking out of your comfort zone every now and then...although I think it unlikely I'll get him to the Dayton Ballet's next performance. Nevertheless, he enjoyed his day at the Art Institute and bought me a cool card. Thanks, honey!

3. Two phones. Yes, we're still hunting wooly mammoths and using a land-line phone, which should be in the cradle in another room, but there it is on my desk. The iPhone in its purple case will win the phone war hands down simply because it's the coolest gadget I've ever had in my formerly Luddite hands. Eventually, we will get rid of the land line. Very eventually. Two-timing is easy, but breaking up is hard to do.

4. A single K-Swiss running shoe, size 9.5. George is the Imelda Marcos of triathletes, at one point hoarding owning 36 pairs of running shoes. That's down to about 12 pairs now. He couldn't get rid of the old ones ("They make great grass-mowing shoes!") so he had me cull the collection a few years ago.

When you have a man who never puts his shoes away and a golden retriever who must! retrieve! when! excited!, then you end up with random single shoes spread all through the house. Daisy brought this one to us when George came home from work, and she moaned and whined and wiggled her joy until he took the shoe out of her mouth and placed it on the desk.

Because, of course, that is where it belongs.

5. A copy of Diana Gabaldon's Outlander. That's the paperback I use to prop my computer. When the computer is flat on the desk, I hit the touchpad constantly and unpredictable things happen that make me say bad words. I looked into buying a tilt-board for the computer but can't bring myself to pay for what a fat paperback does for free.

6. My ergonomic mouse pad. I just glanced at it. It's filthy, which means that I have really dirty wrists. It does NOT mean I spend too much time at my computer.

7. My camera cable. I use that a lot to download pictures of cards for my stamping blog and pictures Jack has taken of his feet.

See what I mean?

8. A pile of papers on George's desk that have been there for about six weeks. I know this because the pile coincides with his new job, which started on April 1.  

9. A box of Kleenex and a notebook. Pretty self-explanatory.

So, what is on your desk? Are there any stories in the detritus of your workspace? Do tell!

Gratitude Journal #187

Today, I am grateful for my mother and George's mother and all the mothers who care about their children, love them, and teach them how to love.

Today, I am grateful for my husband, who did a triathlon on his birthday and smoked a bunch of guys on the bike (13 out of 80 on the bike, 22 overall!). I am grateful for this good start to his triathlon season, for his finding good running shoes that are easy on his knees, and for his new bike that makes him fast and happy!

Today, I am grateful for my children. Jack is home sick today, and I am grateful that he just has a head cold and cough and nothing serious.

Today, I am grateful for Judy and Linda, both of whom offered to get Jack another Nebraska pencil. Our nephew Eli has it covered although it remains to be seen if Jack will accept the replacement!

Today, I am grateful for Great Horned Owls in general and the two who visited our trees early Sunday morning in particular. Listening to their slow, low Morse-code conversation was such a blessing in the dark. To hear a recording that's close to what I heard (my owls were very mellow!), click here, scroll down a bit to Great Horned Owl, and click Listen.

photo copyright Ashley Hockenberry

Today, I am grateful no one died in the New Orleans shooting yesterday. May all the wounded recover fully both physically and emotionally from such an awful experience.

What are you grateful for today?

This Is Motherhood

I wrote the following last night at Barnes and Noble after a lovely dinner at Bonefish to celebrate George's birthday.




This is motherhood. I'm waiting on hold, clearly forgotten. Someone will notice the blinking light on the line eventually. I called the restaurant we just left to see if Jack's prized possession, his woobie, his precious, his University of Nebraska pencil, fell under our table.

The minutes tick by. I should just hang up now, right? But I can't. Autism does this to us. If the pencil is truly gone, Jack's world will stop spinning. The tears. Oh, God, the tears and screams.

Right now he's a ten-year-old wandering through children's books muttering about a pencil. He allows himself hope that Mom will find it. Mom will solve his problem. She's got his back.

No, I don't. I secretly hate that pencil, which has been lost so many times and found by me or other adults (my sister searched the longest, after I'd given up that time). My sister-in-law gave Jack two pencils, but for some reason known only to Jack (something to do with the eraser), that back-up pencil will not do. He must have the one that is lost.

There might be a biblical reference in here somewhere, but I've got no patience with that right now. This isn't a sheep. It's a pencil. An unsharpened pencil. Jack self-stimulates with it, calming himself by waving it. He can't do this at school, only at home. But he brought the pencil tonight because he didn't want to go to the restaurant. Restaurants are crowded and noisy and unsettling for him. The pencil calms him.

Until he loses it.

That pencil stands as a symbol of Jack's disorder to me, but it is precious to him. He is precious to me. So I sit on hold minute after minute, pouring out words that won't stop the tears (his or mine) and decide to convert this experience into something I can share.

Somewhere out there someone else whose child with autism just lost his special bottle cap or rubber band or random rock will breathe deep and think, "Thank you, Jesus. I am not alone."

No, honey. You are not alone. And neither am I. It just feels that way.

Welcome to motherhood. Not the soft-focus promise of the religious right and motherhood books, or the happy faces we put on for public consumption. This is the real deal.

Some days are like this. Some days simply suck. Others blow with the storm of tragedy. And others will blow your mind with miracle after miracle.

This is a week of tied shoes (miracle!) and lost pencils (tragedy!). Peaks and valleys and no map in sight to navigate your way as you and your child are pulled along by forces neither one of you understands. It's cliché, but there's no instruction book for dealing with the tragedies or the miracles. You do your best and cling to faith that God's got your back.



The restaurant staff couldn't find the pencil. Jack handled the news fairly well in the car but fell apart as soon as he was safe in his room. Usually, he takes a little comforting and then wants to be alone. Last night, I started to leave his room, and he clung to me, screeching, "Don't go! Don't go! I'm hopeless!"

Such a silly thing to get so upset over, don't you think? Yet how many times do we all feel that tragedy of loss over something silly? How important are things, really, in the grand scheme of life.

Pretty darn important, sometimes.

Today, after church, I will go to Bonefish to search parking lot. I'll either be Jack's hero or his storm anchor in the tragic winds of life.

This is motherhood. And thank you, Jesus, we are not alone.