It’s a word I love for so many reasons. It means structure, routine, schedule. It means bedtime. Glorious bedtime. We are now on our fourth week. My kids have had their first days once again, learned the rules, seen their friends, met their teachers. They have new goals, new things to learn, and accomplishments ahead of them. It makes me want to recite, “Oh the places you’ll go...” while I skip down the sidewalk. This is as good as it gets. Their shoes fit, their shorts are long enough, and their folders are crisp. I have renewed strength. I have complete thoughts. I’m on top of my game. They’ve been on time every day for almost a solid month. With lunch. (Except for the one day when he left his in the car.) Because my old friend, School, is back. I know this one. Summer, you are tough with your unpredictability, and your shifty boundaries. You tried me, you tested me. You caused me stress. Sure, the kids had fun, and I helped them have lots of fun, but you exhausted me with your constant hungry people and requests.
I remember that day in May when the bell rang and the children ran out with their boxes of broken crayons, nubby erasers, and shredded notebooks stuffed in their bags. It was the last day that I would complete a thought for two straight months. As relieved as I was over social studies and spelling tests, a certain amount of anxiety was evoked in my core over how all the summer stuff was going to work. I had my eye on the other mothers. There was wide-eyed, hyper-alert panic under their smiling faces too. Twenty minutes after we left the school grounds, we could all be found at one of three places - Kroger, Chick-fil-a, or some gracious soul’s end of the year pool party. Buy food, feed kids, entertain kids. Lather, rinse, repeat.
It seems we all made it. The first Monday morning of school, I walked my kids to school, took their pictures, kissed them goodbye and came home and sat in silence for two hours. Ten weeks had never seemed so long. I’m hoping they have good summer memories but if they don’t someday they will read this and something will spark. I am not sure what they will remember but I’ve learned that the things that I take the least amount of effort with or spend the least amount of time planning, those are the memories that usually stick. So, before we are too deep into the depths of common core math and symbiotic relationships of animals, I’ll share my general reflections on the last few months.
On Summer:
I was feeling pretty good about my summer strategy. I had the first week covered and a sprinkling of camps and sitters here and there with some carpool backup. Not exactly solid planning, but hey, it’s summer and I’m going for that breezy, carefree mom look for a couple of months.
Lesson one: It’s not a look I can pull off. I need a certain degree of predictability that does not make me think, like the Friends re-runs I’ve watched every night at ten o'clock for the last six years. (My Friends are still there for me. They are still funny). I also need silence on occasion. (My tendency toward introversion was confirmed recently by a quiz on Facebook. I’m late to hop on the self-awareness bus.)
We didn’t make it to the library until the second week. They were excited enough, checked out books, even read a few pages. Martha Kate made it to the first prize but when it was a thimble-sized container of bubbles that wouldn’t blow, she was done with that. I bought laundry bins for both of them in an effort to change the clothes to floor habit. She climbed in hers and played game of sack-hop in her room. Bailey used his as a basketball goal. I came home to unbrushed teeth, and unmade beds every day. I lost my calendar the second week (see “on water” below) and truly winged-it on childcare from one day to the next. I guess I was going for the element of surprise.
They did the camps - the ones that last three hours in the morning only and don’t start until 9. She made the crafts, he did the sports, hung out with his grand-dad, the VBS, the summer mission (which gives me hope of them becoming decent citizens). They swam in the pools, played in the sprinkler, built the forts, and played with the toys all over the house. They even did Grandparent camp for the first time ever - the only camp where everybody wins in both financial and entertainment values.
Lesson two: They are not tired. They have not used their brains. They met me at the door every day after work wearing goggles and swimsuits. They had plans to go the movies, friends, get snow cones, or buy new shoes that they wouldn’t even wear until August. They saved their questions for me about why they could not have a cat/fish/bird, go to Disney, and always, “when are we eating dinner?” At ten o’clock every night their faces were still talking asking for more food and “Can we watch a movie?” It was all just wrong. But, it’s summer. I’m carefree and breezy.
I really lost that look shortly after the second week.
On water:
These vans remained THE REST OF THE SUMMER. Within hours the baseboards were ripped off, and our house sounded like an airport runway from the fans. We had to go outside to think. Or talk. And the dirt. Oh, the dirt. If we even looked like we were halfway put together when we went out in public for those two months we were living a lie. There was plastic draping over the doorways, appliances, torn out walls, ripped up floors, and two kids, two dogs, and a babysitter right in the middle of it all. I tried to sing a few verses of the LET IT GO song and embrace what we had. It’s all replaceable. I did not let go easily, fully, or willingly. I like it clean - some people smoke. I vacuum. When we backed out of the driveway and the garage ceiling fell in I reminded myself that we’ve done worse.
The kids camped out in their rooms. I didn’t really cook because there was no where to eat and plastic on the fridge. I let them drag out all the Barbies and the Legos and help us, Perler beads, as a consolation prize. I cleared out a 12 inch space to get to the couch and the sensor in front of the TV. They crawled over all the furniture to get to the snacks that were somewhere between the lamps and bookcases. Kate tunneled her way through the holes in the furniture like an underground ant and the dog barked at himself in the mirror propped on the floor until the dust piled up so much that he could no longer see his reflection. I quit vacuuming (except for the 12 inch space). We spent evenings outside on the patio and afternoons swimming in friend’s pools. We explored the city on my days off because we sure didn’t want to stay home. 
Yes, Camp Reno was fun. It was just the summer spontaneity I was looking for - breezy and carefree and living in dirt. I do have an uncanny ability to forget the unpleasant things in life over time which is probably why it has taken me a month to even document it. Cancer three times and I was sure this would be my Achilles heel. But, in the end, we have new floors, new paint, and the realization that our people are always our people. They will sit in our dirty house in lawn chairs on Friday night and eat pizza out of the box. They will tell us there is progress, even though there had not been any in 2 weeks. They will help us pack or drop off boxes and tape. They will come in and nod with sympathy and agreement that it is a disaster, and that no, you don’t need all those doors so ripping them off at five in the morning and throwing them out was totally validated. They will bring dinner over and sit at the table piled with dusty trinkets because they’re not here for the food. Or, they will just feed you and let you swim in their pool. And use their wi-fi.
The experience bonded us and made us sick of each other at the same time. We had some good fun outside the house. We visited Graceland, ate at the Arcade, had sno-cones from Jerry’s, and picked blueberries. I even took the exit in Tupelo and plopped them on the porch of Elvis’s birthplace and then ate fried bologna sandwiches at Johnny’s Drive In. Because the only thing better than nitrites on white bread is fried nitrites on white bread.
There were certainly parts that were uninhibited and carefree, mostly the schedules and the dress code - messy hair under a ball cap and too shorts gave me visions of my future. Longer legs. Loose teeth. Bigger feet. Insisting that red and neon are complimentary colors. Insisting that she fix her own hair.
My vegetables didn’t do so hot but my kids grew.
My vegetables didn’t do so hot but my kids grew.
On growing:
Several months back I was drying my hair and I screamed with such panic that both kids came running and I’m sure thought my hair was on fire. I happened to glance over and realized that the two inch piece of trim where I had measured their height for the last five years was completely painted over. We had our bathroom painted in the spring and apparently “DO NOT PAINT THIS” did not translate well in Spanish. This is the kind of stuff that totally breaks me down as a mother. I am obsessed with watching my kids grow and develop and change and doing my best to document it.
I’ve been old and sentimental for as long as I can remember. I have loved hearing the story behind old things as long as I can remember. I’m sure that my obsession comes in part from losing my mother and fear of them losing theirs. Over half of the artwork in my house is what my kids have made. I had a stack of art ready to frame that I had put under a chair in my dining room and found it floating in water in the flood. It was the first thing I rescued. I laid it all out flat in the sun before I turned off the water or called the insurance. Screw the floor, I’m saving my kids’ art.
I stared at that piece of trim for months until one day this I got brave enough to tackle it with paint thinner and a my fingernail to scratch through the oil-based paint. Stephen was in the background talking about how it’s already cured or something - words and sounds, you don’t get it, man. It is now visible enough for me to fill in the blanks. Kate had even marked the height of her American Girl doll. These are things I want them to see later. I see people post pictures all the time with the caption #timeslowdown. Well, it doesn’t. We can ask it to or wish it would, but it doesn’t. So, the only real option we have is for us to slow down and watch our them grow. I’ve learned in the last five years, that no matter what turmoil, I’ve got going on, the world is still turning and when I sit down and they cover me with their bodies, there’s always just a little more of them than there was yesterday.Summer is also good for this. Immediately after they are home for a few days, you start to notice that
the legs and arms and bellies that used to be covered by their clothes are now showing to a much greater degree. You look in the backseat when you are coming back from vacation, and get a glimpse of your ten year old boy with a rather punkish expression on his face because he’s so annoyed that he is in a car, and see legs everywhere and his foot in your face on the console because it can now reach. You have a hard time folding them up in your lap even though you try really hard. You watch him run and jump to try to touch every doorframe in your house and remember when your brother did that too. And, you feed him. All day. He likes real food because he now watches Food Network and would like to try all the restaurants on Diner’s, Drive Ins and Dives. He eats adult meals and you realize you might need a second job. You are glad that she’s still 37 pounds because at least you have one, but somehow she’s as long as the bathtub and can stretch her arms and legs out to climb all the door frames so she can touch them before her brother gets there. You will hear all summer that “my shorts/shoes/shirt” are too small and you will be thankful for flip-flops and swimsuits because when their heels hang over the back or when they get wet it’s not as noticeable.
And, the personalities. They grow too. He has inherited your ability to impersonate almost anyone
and you beam with pride as he completely nails the one-liner in context and right on cue. If used properly this obvious genetic trait will bring you and him much entertainment value. He understands and loves the Griswolds which is both a blessing and a curse. She marches on to her own drum. You find yourself embracing it because you are so opposite yet so alike and she makes you happy with her made-up songs and elaborate stories about how the fairies will come and leave treasures, or how she cannot understand rain on happy days when there should be rainbows and unicorns flying around. Then in the next breath she will say the truest and most profound thing about heaven or how God loves people and we should love them too even when they are different than us. You wonder how you could bottle that all up to give to the rest of the world. They both tell you a million times a day how much they love you. You know it’s true and they know love because you give them love and for ten and seven years you have told them over and over.
When you are shopping for school supplies, long-enough shorts, and bigger shoes to fit the feet that grew from Food Network experiments, you will be grateful to be doing so. And, then you will remember that he is in 5th grade and you will freak out because this is the last year of a smallish bubble, so you will stop the car and turn around and give the speech:
“You can choose to lead or you can choose to follow. I suggest you lead or at least don’t follow trouble unless you want to be in it. I will not back up nonsense, do you understand?”
He will look at you like you have two heads and wonder if he’s still going to get any shoes or what he ever did but you hope it stuck.
And, then you will drive them to school and you will drop them off and take a picture from behind.
The same one you’ve taken every years for five years and had no idea what five years would do to you. Or for you. Or for them. And while the other mothers are sad, you are happy because you made it one more time.
And, finally...
On school:
I’ve determined that overall it is good. It stimulates brain cells and gives purpose to their day. Ours happens to be public and excellent which is a bonus. They are learning to respect authority, make friends, and face challenges both mentally and socially. We get to brush up on history and learn math party tricks. It’s not easy but neither is life and school is the first bubbled in taste of the real world. We’ve spent over three weeks into homework and for heaven’s sakes, NEW MATH. Instead of adding, there are charts to move things to the right and left and triangles under numbers to make equations. I was hoping the kids would bond over math and not Minecraft but whatever. I’m grateful for the kind teacher in Maine who YouTubed her homework sheets. She deserves a handwritten thank-you or a Christmas ham. We’ll eventually learn it together or they’ll teach me which is what they do anyway. They teach me over and over how to be better at who I am so they can be better at who they are.
As parents school lets us see if what we’ve put out there is going to float - if all this home training that is all a big guessing game is going to work. It’s all experimental learning. Do we push them harder? Do we go to bat for them or sit back and watch? Do we give them a pass and show some grace or let the punishment fit the crime? There are so many people with opinions these days that it’s confusing. Everything about raising these kids is confusing, even what groceries to buy. I assume taco shells are of the devil since there were none at the organic grocery store. You can read any category of parenting advice on the internet, like the article on "helping girls embrace failure." It's hard for me to imagine that a child has enough life experience to fail at something. I’m guilty of reading the articles and sipping on a drink of the Kool-Aid. After all, I confirmed that I am an introvert and then just yesterday, that I probably have ADD. Thank you, Facebook.
In the fifteen minutes before I go to work every morning and after they are off to school, I make their beds and pray for them. I look at their rooms and see little reflections of themselves - sports, dolls, legos, crafts. I pray that their teachers and friends see them for who I do. I see my sensitive, funny boy that wants to be liked but also wants to please and has probably dealt with more real life than a lot of his friends. I see my free-spirited, spunky little girl, who is happy with who she and wants everyone else to be happy too. I want them to “have courage and be kind” like the fairy godmother says. I want them to make wise choices and discern when they did not, to be kind to people, and have the courage to stand up for themselves and for others who can't. I’ve resolved to stand in the gap as an encourager but I know is the hardest place to be when they will encounter mean kids, defeat, and discouragement. As for the parenting, I’m thinking Proverbs might be the best option with the “train up a child in the way they should go” and Matthew with “Do unto others as you would have them do unto you.” Or my mother’s voice which I hear over and over saying, “Just do the best you can.” She had a pretty good handle on what our best was, and unfortunately for them, so do I.
So, now that summer’s closing in and we are trading in our rash guards for football jerseys, our Hawaiian Tropic for pullovers, and our afternoons swimming for kitchen tables of homework and taxis to practices, and parent meetings, it’s a good time to reflect on questions in life like:
Are you smarter than a fifth grader?
Who decided on "joggers" and high-waisted jeans as a clothing option?
What is a Whip and a Nae Nae?
What would Elvis think of iPads?
What would Elvis think of iPads?
It’s also a good time to give thanks summer memories that will turn into laughs later, for new floors, yellow vans, and people like Carlos and Daniel that joined us for the summer adventure and for Selma who helped clean it up,
for thin Oreos so you can eat a lot of them and feel like it only one,
for coffee,
and of course,
for thin Oreos so you can eat a lot of them and feel like it only one,
for coffee,
and of course,
BEDTIME.
KJ
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| Always take home the class pet. It will be more fun than you think.We kept the lizard alive. |
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| "it was a blast." |
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