Hillcrest Cottage's Changing Seasons

Fall is a true celebration in Arkansas...a welcome change from our very hot summers.

Snow in Arkansas is a rare treat...always a holiday for all...complete with Rotel Dip!

Black-Eyed Susans are strong enough to survive our Arkansas summers with minimal care.

The Seasons are Changing
(Originally Written Fall 2006)

Life is fluid like a mountain stream. We desperately try to make it more like the river stones over which the water flows - smooth and stable, but our attempts are feeble.

Life continues... unstoppable.

The seasons change...

and I feel the change coming now.

It's now cool in the mornings, cool enough for a sweatshirt. I see some yellow leaves popping up on a nearby tree. My summer zinnias are looking weary of blooming.

A change is coming.

My dad is walking quite a bit slower these days. My youngest son is dreaming of the deep voice we expect will arrive any week now. My oldest has his eyes set toward college, and he spent last weekend out-of-town hunting with a buddy - no adults.

Wow.

What a far place from watching him ride away on his training wheeled bike - out of my reach where if he fell I wouldn't be able to catch him. I remember being afraid that day because I could see him, but I couldn't touch him. Kinda like a mama bird watching from a distance as her baby bird flies. I know training wheels aren't like flying, but it seemed so extreme and risky at the time. Would he remember to look for cars as he had been taught?

The season is changing.

In a blink there will be one, maybe two less plates at the Thanksgiving table. Just a few turns of the calendar pages and my hunter won't be leaving his stinky socks in the bathroom, in the hallway, on his bedroom floor.

Life is flowing swiftly.

Time truly waits for no man.

Today I won't be who I was yesterday. Every glance in the morning mirror reflects a wrinkle that wasn't quite there the day before.

The season is changing...

and, like a mountain stream, the season's change can not be stopped.

(Added January 2009)
P.S. Thanksgiving 2008, in fact, did bring two empty plates to the family table. One, was my Cadet's and the other my dad's. My dad suffered a stroke September 2008 and died from complications December 12,2008.

The season has changed.

Carpe Diem.

(Added November 2009)
P.P.S. Here I am 3 years later, once again, observing life's changing rhythms. Piles of leaves, fire pit and chiminea, football play-offs, thanksgiving break. Two in college, a 16 year old with wheels and a new-found interest in females.
I'm looking forward to my middle son's visit from college... the laziness of firepit evenings... the great conversations that emerge when our family takes the time to do nothing...together.

Boys...

Davis got his Jeep a little bit muddy and...

He couldn't have been more proud!

I learned early in my Momhood that boys rarely play with their toys the way in which they were designed. When my boys were small, I would often find toys broken...split open...because a boy had been more curious about what was on the inside than what his toy looked like on the outside.

Later on, I learned that boys don't jump on trampolines...they wrestle on them.

And..now I am learning that boys don't like clean Jeeps...they like them muddy.

A Fall Weekend in Upstate New York

Hello...West Point!

Just a collection of photos from this past weekend. I tagged along with Jeff as he was the speaker for the West Point OCF Fall Retreat. Happily, my favorite Cadet was one of the awesome people with whom we got to spend time. I am very glad I went. It was an experience I will never forget. There were some divine appointments for me, and I learned a lot.

Better yet...Hello, Clayton!!!

Clayton and Jeff at the Camp with fall color in the background...great for Clayton just to ditch the uniform and be in his favorite jeans, coat, and beanie.

Camp Pinnacle near Albany was established in the late 1800's and is still going strong. We spent a good amount of time with the Cadets. I listened to Cadets from Alaska, California, and Miami. I learned that it is therapeutic for them to have someone listen to the stories they tell about their families and home... because they miss their families as much as their families miss them!

In our free time, Clayton, Jeff, and I hiked around the camp just talking, enjoying the trees, and, most importantly...just being together.

Spending time with Clayton was such a gift. Thanks, God!

Back at the "institution" as Clayton calls it and time to return to reality, for Clayton it was the history paper that awaited him, for us, the drive to Newark Airport and regular life at Hillcrest Cottage.

I was fine with the 'good-bye' thing until he said, "Bye, Mama...see you at Christmas." Then, I had to hold back the tears because

Christmas seems like such a long time away....

"You are My Reward"

A wise son makes a father glad,
But a foolish son is a grief to his mother.
Proverbs 10:1

Since our family switched to an unlimited texting plan, a whole new realm in my relationship with Stuart the College Freshman has emerged. He texts things like: "I love you" without me having to first say it. He fills me in on life's details, and, any mother of a son knows moms of sons are never privy to any details.

I have to also say that texting has revolutionized my shopping- with- sons experience. Last night Stuart and I spent 30 minutes shopping via texting and internet browsing. We were looking for a winter coat... the one he "didn't need" but I was patiently keeping my mouth shut and waiting until Fayetteville's mountain chill and walking to class would be his teacher. He still doesn't need gloves, muffler, or hat...I'll also wait for an Ozark Mountain arctic blast to whisper that in his frozen ear. We were able to breeze through five different stores in a short amount of time. Even though he has yet to find a coat to which he is attracted, he did order a hoodie to carry him through until something better comes along. Success!

We were eating dinner Sunday night when a Stuart text appeared:

"I am studying a parenting section in Psych...you guys did an awesome job."

What mom of an 18 year old wouldn't want to read a text like that! (Although, a part of me wonders what he was reading in his Psych book, we could be being compared to hatchet murdering parents...ha...who knows.)

On Clayton's 18th birthday, he also spent time telling us...in person (this is the difference between Clayton and Stuart)... what a great job we had done being his parents.

There is no greater reward in this life than to hear two sons tell me these words.

I'm not at all saying that our family is perfect or that my kids will never make poor choices. I am more amazed by the results than anyone else. We worked very hard and diligently with our children in the early years...so when the teenage years rolled in...and I have one still there...it was/is a joy, not a grief, to experience.

I know he probably read the text sent back to him with a quizzical look on his face. Only a parent could understand the significance of seeing years of very difficult work coming to fruition. Sadly, many parents will never hear these words, so I receive them gratefully with humility.

My text back to Stuart:

"You are my reward...I love you so much."

Never Quit

I have only quit one time in my life...

one time.

It was the first beautiful Saturday in the spring of my 8th grade existence. Our neighborhood, being blessed with way over 50 kids living on several small streets, was being its usual active self. The sun was shining and the temperature was mild. Lots of bike riding, roller skating, and kick ball was happening on Pleasant Place that afternoon.

A celebration after a winter of watching Gilligan's Island re-runs.

It was the kind of day when kids coming out of hibernation want to show off the strength and growth of the past season. Somehow, I found myself challenged to a foot race around the block with the very athletic-played-college-basketball boy next door who, btw, hated my girl guts for having beaten him previously the year before.

"It's because he wasn't wearing his Red Ball Jets!" his younger sister had angrily lamented last year after her brother's defeat.

I was the reigning Queen of Speed both of my neighborhood and grade school playground. FYI: There was only one boy who I could never dominate, and he later became the State Decathalon Champion. Ironically, he, too, lived on my block, but I knew better than to engage him in a race; our contests were strictly limited to verbal sparring.

If you understand the dynamics of neighborhood contests of this magnitude, then you will know that these spur-of-the-moment challenges were highly significant because they usually occured only annually, usually in the spring. It was definitely a King- of -the- Hill mentality with the winner holding the title for at least a year or until some kid experienced enough of a growth spurt to challenge the title holder.

I remember not being happy about the length of the course, for I was a sprinter of the much shorter variety (50 to 100 yards), but the neighborhood pressure was great and around the block didn't sound very long (It was the equivalent of slightly over 400 metres).

I remember sucking wind while making the first turn (about 1/2 way) and the momentum of running down the very steep Hall Drive hill carried me only a tiny bit further.

I remember the switch in my brain that said...

"I quit".

My 13 year- old body collapsed at the 3/4ths mark, and the boy-next-door cruised his way to victory with the entire neighborhood waiting at the finish line.

My days of challenging boys to athletic contests came crashing to an end. A girl can't expect to be faster than the most athletic boys in her city forever, so I don't lament my defeat. What I lament is that I quit and did not finish strong. I could have gotten up and pushed myself across the finishline, but...

I laid on the ground feeling humiliation and defeat for a very long time.

When I finally had the strength to make my way home, the crowd had long dispersed, going back to their bike riding and kick ball games.

I wish I had finished the race. I wish I had looked my opponent in the eyes and said, "Good race."

I wish I had not quit.

I have only quit one time in my life...one time.

It will never happen again.

Football, Hummingbirds & Jeep

This postcard is a design I call "Football Mom". It is one of many items I will be selling at my upcoming Hillcrest Cottage Open House Art & Gift Show. Sadly, all three of my teams (Davis' LRCA Warriors, Arkansas Razorbacks, And Army) lost this weekend. It wasn't a happy football weekend.
This past week the hummingbirds packed their bags for Mexico and left my feeder half-full. Hummingbirds are like that...they just leave one day with no fair warning or good-byes. I will miss them greatly. Maybe that's what my hummingbird was trying to tell me recently when I found him buzzing around Jeff's study...inside my house.
And, finally, Thursday, the new Jeep top arrived. Been praying for this top for 3 years . No more having to wear a raincoat while driving in the rain! No more towels stuffed in the corners! No more wet seats! It was an exercise in perseverance waiting for this top...but it's here at last!

So... my week in three words: Football, Hummingbirds, and Jeep.

Football Football Football

Little Rock Christian Warrior #9 Prepared for Battle

Pre-Game Warm-Ups and #9 is Ready for Action...Awesome Calf Muscle!

More Pre-Game Warm-Ups...ESPN Voted Our #5 the Top Running Back Recruit!

The football stadium is where you'll find us on Friday nights. I love high school football. Some of my fondest high school memories include football and all the action surrounding the game. It's just soooo American. It's so the heart of who we are as a people.

I love it!

It is especially exciting when I get to see my son suit up. Even if he doesn't get playing time, it's still fun to watch him be a part of the action.

So, here's for the Warriors and high hopes for the game tonight. So far we are 2-0. And, if the rain holds off tonight and we are winning by a couple of touchdowns and the coach is in a good mood and the stars all align properly and God hears the prayers of a mom wanting her son to experience some success... maybe #9 will get in the game and catch a pass and score a touchdown and be proclaimed a hometown hero in a parade just for his honor and all the colleges will begin calling us for that full-football scholarship all parents hope for, etc, etc, etc.

Or...

maybe we'll just have a fun night enjoying the moments of having an awesome high school son still at home!

Other Things I Do

Just for the record... I have been AWOL from Hillcrest Cottage Life here on my blog, but present with my Hillcrest Cottage Art. I am putting together a gift sale at my house. Hopefully, I will have a house full of artists, fashion designers, photographers, and other craftspeople displaying their creations...and, hopefully, we will all come away with some cash for our efforts!

Also...in the works...my book that I have been working on for several years. It takes a long time to put together a proper book proposal, but, finally, I have accomplished this...even though it took me practically all summer to do so. Fingers crossed and lots of prayers for that project.

Let's see...the student ministry that we have every Wednesday night here at Hillcrest Cottage begins again tonight, and having my house 'invaded' by high school students always brings life to Hillcrest Cottage's brick and mortar! So...I should be vacuuming, cleaning, and baking chocolate chip cookies very soon.

Just wanted folks to know that I haven't been sitting down with my feet propped up eating bon bons and watching CSI reruns...being absent means working hard at the other 'parts' of me.

Time

The Little Black Volvo Returns to the University

Davis Celebrates His First Solo Drive to School

Before cell phones, (There was life before cell phones???) when I wore a watch, I always had the watch set for 5 minutes faster than the actual time. I suppose it was my vain attempt to not measure time, but control it. I could always be 5 minutes late...yet still on time.

All of creation is set up to measure time - the sun and moon, the tides, women's bodies, seasons. All of creation responds to the prompts. Birds fly north and south. Animals give birth in season. Very soon my jousting hummingbirds will no longer squeak at my veranda's end.

All measures of time.

This morning my newly crowned 16 year old backed out of Hillcrest Cottage's driveway in the manual transmission Jeep he 'stole' from Dad. He was so proud to be finally emancipated...cleared to drive solo. He had done what no other Kinley brother had been willing to do - learn how to manage a manual transmission in our very hilly town.

Yesterday, on his Labor day 'holiday', Davis had spent 3 hours at football practice, mowed and weed-eated our entire property, then, had meticulously washed the Jeep. All this work doesn't even include the half day he had earlier spent vacuuming, spot cleaning the carpet, and discovering at least 4 ant colonies thriving beneath the Jeep's carpet.

Let's just say Dad hadn't paid much attention to the asthetics of his Jeep. "It's a Jeep" had been his standard mantra for 10 years.

Soon a new top will be arriving. Davis has 'plans' to lift the Jeep, put on huge wheels, a light kit, new speakers, and the list goes on. (No...to most of that...btw, but don't tell him I said that.). He has even more plans to take the car mudding and has already permanently moved the radio station from NPR to the local country station.

"Mom, we live in Arkansas. We have to be rednecks," he now informs me with a wide grin on his face.

This morning I listened to the Jeep's familiar rattle as it drove down Lee Avenue away from Hillcrest Cottage and...

I cried.

It was only yesterday when the little black Volvo had returned to the University. All this change is overwhelming. Suddenly, I find myself looking in the mirror.

Hmmmmm. It's you...again. It's been about 20 years since I have paid you any attention.

All the whirlwind of activity is winding down like my great grandmother's mantle clock...which could never keep proper time but kept on being passed down to someone anyway.

I'm left looking at myself...me...the soon to not be 'the mom' me. These boys of mine are phasing me out. I'm an intuitive 'bird', and I'm reading the seasons. The time has come for me to ask and to answer...

who am I?

Do you ever wonder who you are ...beyond all the labels that life gives you?

Too Much Fun for the First Night of College

We took Stuart to college on Tuesday. When we left him, his room was filled with so much love, friendship, familiarity, and laughter that I couldn't be sad. Later Tuesday night, he sent us this pic from his I-Phone.

Going to college is supposed to be lonely and scary at first. The college freshman is supposed to sit on his quiet bunk missing all the thing he left behind.

For my middle son who chose Prom Not to Be, God was so faithful to go before him and make his way to college very smooth. I'm not saying there won't be plenty of adjustments ahead, I'm just rejoicing in what's happening now.

The food report so far is: Great!

My first son said the same thing... could be a commentary on Mom's cooking.

The people report so far: Everyone is so friendly here!

He ate dinner with the javelin thrower for the track team and said he was cool.

Oh...and...he texted last night...

(BTW, "texting' was invented specifically for me and Stuart. Since we finally got unlimited texting, we have the best conversations, and I get "I love you" a lot!)

...to tell me that he would be eating his words regarding a piece of furniture I had unsuccessfully tried to sell him on putting in his dorm room.

My reply was, "Stuart, you have been at college less than a week, and you have learned so much already!"

One small victory for Mom... but he has still not requested the medical mask...oh, well.

Week of Change

Sunday

My West Point Cadet's 24 day leave was over, and he flew back to New York not to return home until Christmas. When his plane landed, we received this text:

Arrived safely in New York stop. On my way back to prison stop.

Jeff replied to him:

Enjoy your transition to the number one prison in the free world. Let us know when you get back to the Grey Rock.

It was a great time of family togetherness. Most days were spent trying to grab ten minutes here and there with my very active son. It was good to have his smelly socks and to hear his laugh.

Monday

Jeff and Davis took Pepper the Blind Cocker Spaniel on her final drive to the vet. I'm still thinking she will walk out onto the porch this beautiful summer morning, or I think she must be quietly napping under my chair right now.

Pepper, you were the sweetest, most loyal and faithful dog I have ever had. I have happy memories of your younger bird chasing days and your bouncy trot.

Tuesday

This has been the summer of driving lessons as I have been the "appointed one" to instruct our 15 year old in driving the Expedition plus the standard shift Jeep...which he is plotting to take over soon. On Monday, I was stressed and cussed out loud when we had a near collision. But, on Tuesday we experienced victory when he PASSSED his road test!!!!

Wednesday

I turned 50...enough said.

Thursday

Five more days, five more nights and Stuart leaves for college. It's overwhelmingly sad for me.This day was filled with final shopping for him. A coffeepot and shampoo, and I'm done.

Stuart said while surveying my very neat, organized piles, "Mom, no," and began pulling items out of my piles. "You have done it again. Too much stuff. I wouldn't use this many logenzes in four years!"

"They were deeply discounted," I replied sheepishly.

Maybe I should not have put the medical mask (in case of swine flu outbreak) in there.

"I'm a detail-person, Stuart...and the thought of you being hungry in your dorm room without snacks makes me sad."

"Save a lot of this stuff at home for me. I may use it next semester," he sweetly conceded as he continued to pull out more carefully purchased items.

But his pile was growing....

Friday

So, it's the end of a crazy week at Hillcrest Cottage. My outlook is hopeful, and I am wondering what cool things life will offer in the road up ahead.

And...there's still Saturday to come.

Blogger on Vacation

Dear Friends,

My Clayton is home for one more week (out of three) so I'm on vacation from Blogville. Even though he is constantly on the move, I want to be available to catch him whenever I can!

Don't want to miss sitting across from him at the kitchen counter while he grabs a bite or any other such 'boring' event. Every minute is precious when I may not see him again for 4 more months!!!

Be back soon. Continnue to have an awesome summer!

Bev at Hillcrest Cottage

Sunday Morning at Hillcrest Cottage

It's a very-unusual-for-an-Arkansas-July 72 degrees this morning. Nearby Sunday bells are calling churchgoers inside. The breeze is refreshing. The neighborhood is quiet. Occasionally, a hummingbird will zip past or the tiny red house wren will shyly drink from my birdbath. Mac the Labradoodle naps contentedly on the cool porch floor.

It's another Sunday in Hillcrest. I enjoy hearing the happy, small children squeals which float down Holly Street toward my porch. On a mornings like this, seems like everyone's drinking coffee on their porches, too. Sometimes a neighbor might lazily play their guitar.

Lots of joggers and walkers and all types of dogs have passed in front of my garden's brown picket fence. On this cool morning it was good to cut away the dead branches from my Black-Eyed Susans and Purple Coneflowers.

The day is young, and hope is high. Hope that I will accomplish something significant, love someone well, laugh at a funny story, speak a kind word, have discipline in what I eat, and be a healthy branch attached to the vine.

As I cleaned away the dead flowers in my own garden, I was encouraged to stay connected so I, too, can bloom. It is a beautiful Sunday morning at Hillcrest Cottage, and these words whispered to me:

I am the vine, you are the branches: he who abides in Me, and I in him, he bears much fruit; for apart from Me you can do nothing.

About Almost Being 50 and Stuff

I love pink and green and bunnies and secret garden places and old photographs and thinking about simple pleasures like family, updating my 1923 cottage house, and hammocks placed under shady oak trees. I love 76 degree temps when the sun is shining and naps at night on my porch when the crickets are out. I love when a new bird stops by my bird bath or when a flower pops up in an unexpected place or when I see a hummingbird up close.

I love telling new friends the story of how I met my husband when we were only 19 and were beach bums for a summer and about all the phone bills that followed.

I love when my 18 year old sends me a text saying, “ I love you, Mom.” (I can’t frame that message, but I can remember it.); equally love when my 15 year old hugs me and says, “I’m sorry I was so grumpy earlier today.” I love when my faraway son’s picture lights up on my phone, and he is calling...

just to talk.

I love that lots of my friends are nearly half of half my age kinda like the hoodie Jeff got yesterday for 75% off.

I love a new haircut and a t-shirt that fits well and doesn’t make me look fat. I love the sound of flip flops. I love it when my grass is weed-free, thick, and green. I love it that my front fence is finally finished, so Mac the Labradoodle can no longer escape to bark and scare the walkers strolling past on the sidewalk.

I love when I can sit on my front porch...

hearing only the soft sound of the fan jiggle...

as it slowly stirs the warm air.

I love to take a hot bath at day’s end, and I almost always thank God for running water because of one cold afternoon in Hawaii when I got soaked from an unexpected rain storm and returned too late to the retreat center where everyone else had used up all the hot water. I had to take the coldest shower... ever... and I have never forgotten that feeling even though I was 20, and it was over 30 years ago.

I love it that when I had lunch with a high school friend who I haven’t seen for 20 years, time seemed to have never left 1977 and there was no hint of awkwardness, even though I had to ask the names of her children and have no idea what color her kitchen walls are.

I love long bike rides on overcast summer days when there are no hills, and the sun is almost setting.

I love anything chocolate but can say “no” to most everything else.

Some of my most favorite moments are spent on porches, and I wish mine was ten times bigger than it is now.

I love to daydream, plan, and create. I love it when I give someone a really good idea, and they do it, and it is successful, and I don’t care much about getting the credit or recognition...
although an occasional “thanks” is appreciated.

I enjoy getting into a very hot car after being inside where the air conditioning is too cold. I also still like to bury my face in towels fresh out of the dryer.

My favorite smells are honeysuckle and cape jasmine.

Did I say I love bright pink, bright green, bright clear red?

I think orange goes with hot pink because it reminds me of a striped shirt I picked out in 5th grade. I can still remember my grandmother saying that pink and orange don’t go together, but I liked the shirt, and she let me have it anyway.

Thanks, Maw Maw because I think of you every time I see orange and pink together.

When I was in high school I had wanted to be a wrapping paper designer, and I am wondering what that career choice says about me.

Yesterday I flew a kite, and I am glad I did it.

I love the smell of puppy breath and the feeling of the little sharp teeth when they bite my fingers.

I love little boys and the very long stories they tell. I love holding a new baby and forgetting how little babies can be. Then, I look at my grown guys and wonder how they got so big.

I’m almost always sad at the end of each day because I don’t want it to end, but I’m usually so tired I know it must.

I love it when I am home alone...which is rarely...and I can play whatever music makes me happy endlessly... over and over... without anyone commenting or complaining.
When I am in my art studio doing something creative, I love it when my heart beats faster, and I think... just for a few moments... that I might have stumbled upon the idea that will make me a million dollars.

I’m glad that I adopted Mac the Labradoodle, and I know it makes people ‘sick’ to see how much we love her, but I don’t care. I let her lick me in the face. I love to put my nose to hers and whisper to her about how much she is loved. I know she understands what I am saying.

I love that I still live in the town where I was born. Sometimes I will walk through my neighborhood just to be amazed at the beauty of the trees, the gardens, and the architecture. The familiarity never bores me, instead makes me feel like I truly belong somewhere special in this great, huge world. I like big cities like NYC and London only for a few days because crowded places make me feel small...

and insignificant...

and who wants to feel that way?

My mom has a contagious laugh. I love to tell her stories about my boys. When she laughs, I do, too.

I can’t control that I am almost 50...but not quite yet...and I am determined to act my age, grow old gracefully without botox... but to never act old.
I look into the mirror these days only when necessary. Not very often, but sometimes, I think, Hey, you don’t look so bad today. I can’t control the effects of time, but I can make my dental visits a constant priority and I don’t have to be fat, so I’m working on that.

I’m turning 50 soon. I still dream a lot about the future. One day my book will become a reality. I’ve given up on the wrapping paper design company, but, not quite,

on raising chickens.

One day I’m going to be organized enough to plant a vegetable garden on time. I am going to faithfully visit the farmers market every Saturday. I will take a cycling trip through France...

probably after my house gets a new roof and windows that open.

And...I still want a tree house.

I’m never going to like brussel sprouts or drink beer or give up eating M & Ms.

I am never going to jump out of an airplane or go white water rafting, or learn how to knit.

My mom told me that I would learn how to play bridge in college, but it didn’t happen. I hope I will keep up with technology, but I still don’t want an I-Phone...

even if everybody else does.

And, lastly, I am still planning to buy that 3-wheeled cycle with a large basket. I dream of a day when someone can have my car keys because...

I'm tired of driving anyway.

But I wouldn't mind a convertible in a funky color.

So...what I think I am saying is that I am almost 50...but not quite yet... I think I am ready...

Bring it.

R-Day Eve

Our West Point Bound Son at His Going Away Party

One Year Later at Cadet Field Training

Today is R-Day Eve for the West Point New Cadets Class 2013, and many emotions are flooding my mind. It's been a full year since the family delivered our New Cadet to the land of all things gray, and the adrenaline of that 24 hours has become a part of our family history.

An entire auditorium of people gave my son a standing 'O' as he received the certificate stating he had received a West Point appointment. There were several going away parties with cakes, speeches , tributes, toasts, and flag waving. He was a regular hometown hero...

but all that would quickly change.

On R-Day, my son morphed from Hometown Hero to New Cadet and it is was made crystal-clear that New Cadet is the lowest form of life in the strange new world he had entered.

It was a tearful, emotional good-bye, as delivering any child to college would be..

multiplied by a thousand.

And we morphed quickly as well. We changed from tearful parents to...

New Cadet stalkers.

They (the New Cadets) were everywhere, being herded in small groups from one station to the next. We planted ourselves at a strategic crossroad and, with binoculars and video camera in hand...

the stalking began.

Our New Cadet loaded with gear and sporting his new BCGs (BCG = Birth Control Glasses) was
herded by our vantage point into the barber shop and out again. The transformation was...

well...

breathtaking.

Mom's voice can be heard on the family video saying,

"Oh...
my...
goodness..."

Moms everywhere could be seen crying...

especially after seeing the haircuts and glasses.

Soon we were lined along the street waiting for a glimpse of our New Cadet at the R-Day Parade and Oath Ceremony.
Dad spotted him as he was marching away and was so overcome with pride that he gave a "Go, Kinley!" shout-out.
I saw Clayton's trademark 'smirk' as he continued to stare straight ahead. It was the last time I would see him for a long time, and I lived off that smirk for the rest of the summer.

Next, they herded the Class of 2012 into the Mess Hall. The doors were closed with a ceremonial bang....
West Point's way of saying, "Show's over folks. Nothing more to see. They are 'our' New Cadets now."

The summer was full of silence. I wrote him every day, but received little back. Only the fill-in-the blank letters I had composed were returned. Meanwhile, he spent the summer chewing 5 times a bite, doing push-ups for every conceivable offense, and trying to be as invisible as possible. We lived for the three 10 minute phone calls.
And, in the end, purchased two plane tickets to New York in August for his Acceptance Day weekend to witness firsthand his upgrade from New Cadet to Cadet and Plebe.

Once he got settled into the barracks with his own landline, and we could talk to him, a lot of the anxiety began to fade. He didn't fly home for Thanksgiving, so Christmas leave was a joyous homecoming full of friends and non-stop activity.

We flew up again in March for Plebe Parent Weekend, he spent Spring Leave in Colorado skiing with a friend, we prayed all spring for him to pass Calculus, and, the next time we see him...

Dad is pinning his Airborne Wings on his uniform!

This has been a year full of growth both for our Cadet and for us as parents letting go of our first child. He has grown from a boy to a man, independent from us and thriving in an incredible environment.

Tomorrow when a thousand families will be living their R-Day, my Cadet will be shooting from tanks at Fort Knox, Kentucky. He has already had a summer full of jumping out of airplanes, being in the field for days at a time, blowing open buildings, shooting all kinds of guns, and

...well...

preparing to be an Army Officer.

Family Vacation

These are some crazy times for Hillcrest Cottage. We seem to be flying past new mileposts every day at an alarmingly fast pace. Two weeks ago, on a single day I had one son jumping out of airplanes, another was driving the little black Volvo solo on a six hour road trip, and the last seems to grow an inch daily.

Airborne School

Last week we were road tripping toward Georgia to attend Clayton's Airborne School Graduation. Airborne was a three week opportunity for Clayton to experience military life with the regular enlisted 'Joes' outside the West Point bubble. We were able to add him to the Expedition and head north toward Atlanta. The Varsity was our initial destination... a Kinley family tradition which Clayton enjoyed immensely.

Uncle Danny's Farm

We were able to spend Clayton's 5 day leave on Uncle Danny's farm. There was a lot of good food cooked by Granny Kinley (Granny's deluxe family meal includes macaroni and cheese cooked in a crock pot, the saltiest green beans on the planet, creamed corn that melts in your mouth, sweet tea that keeps you up all night because you drink too much, and banana pudding which is the recipe straight off the Nilla Wafers box, but doesn't taste the same if it's made by anyone other than her. Once they took that recipe off the Nilla Wafer box. Granny promptly wrote them a letter of complaint. The recipe soon appeared back... and to this day she claims it was because of her!)

Good Times on the Veranda

There was also lots of cigar smokin' under the veranda... an awesome spot with a cool concrete floor, fans blowing, an outdoor fireplace for chilly nights (just not this trip), a huge dining table for family gatherings and a kitchen. Uncle Danny's farm is our boys' favorite destination. It was Mac the Labradoodle's first vacation, and she had a fun time running around with no restrictions.

A New Hat

Clayton was able to shoot his new rifle, which we had brought with us. He picked out an awesome new 'Clayton' hat at the Mast Country Store in Greenville.
We told stories, reflected on the past year, and laughed... a lot.
It was a great five day vacation for Clayton and an unexpected surprise for our family to have been able to take him to South Carolina. Last year when the family gave Clayton his farewell party, we didn't know when he would be able to be back...if ever.
We will never be able to predict where his military travels will take him.

Three Brothers Together

One of my favorite parts of this family time was seeing all three guys in Danny's attic bedroom on blow-up mattresses laughing, talking, and just being brothers

...again.

The Varsity is one of our favorite family road trip traditions, what's yours?

Road Trip!

Mac the Labradoodle and family left Hillcrest Cottage on a road trip to Georgia and South Carolina. In Georgia we saw Clayton graduate from Airborne School.

A very proud moment for all.

Soon the whole family, Mac included, was packed into the Expedition heading toward South Carolina for a visit with extended family and much needed R and R for Clayton.
These are some of the Kinley guys. The MIAs are a brother, two nephews, and two great nephews. There are relatives of the female persuasion, too, but I think it is fun to see pictures of all the guys together.

Grandad comes from a family that included 9 boys...

so guys are kinda a family tradition.

Here is Clayton in a rare 'silly' pose while enjoying some cigar time with the guys. I think he thought,

If I give Mom some good pictures, maybe she will quit with the camera...

but that was not to be.

Not when the whole family has not been together since Christmas.

The trek back to West Point begins at 5:30 a.m. (5:30 comes twice a day?) tomorrow when we point the Expedition toward Atlanta. Clayton will fly back to New York, and we will drive home to Hillcrest Cottage.

We will anticipate seeing Clayton again mid-July for his 23 day leave.

Here's to a really great day!!!

What's the last bittersweet time you had that you wished you could hold onto longer?

Graduation

STUART'S GRADUATION NIGHT

What a great pic, even though he had already taken off his robe...

(Me, Mom, Bev) I am in the picture!!!

Refer to 'Film' to understand the significance of this momentous occasion...

oh...

and graduation was great,too.

On A Day Like Today

On a day like today I can't imagine having more than 3 children, husband, Mac the Labradoodle, and a blind cocker spaniel who follows irritatingly behind every step I take.

This morning I added 'travel agent' to my long and continually growing job description. The entire morning had been spent making several plane and bus travel arrangements for my West Point cadet's summer schedule.

Turns out his new debit card was declined, so that added a few steps to the process including wondering why it had been declined and juggling money from one bank account to another.

We just got unlimited texting so my usually short-and-to-the-point boys have all become quite chatty...I love it...usually. But, on a day like today when I haven't washed my hair in 3 days...not so much.

"Mom..." texted son who was at a final exam study session at school ,which is 20 minutes away, "Can you come to pick me up now?'

I knew that if I hurried, I would be able to squeeze in a hair washing before having to rush out the door to pick up studying son.

Slightly detouring, I stopped by the bank...where everyone knows my name...not because I have a lot of money, just because they are nice...to resolve the debit card issue.
Turns out West Point guy had forgotten to activate his new card.

"I'm pretty sure it is working now, but we can't have our West Point boy traveling without his debit card. Have him buy a candy bar or something to see if that new card is working right."

"Mom," calls my son from after graduation practice, "if I buy lunch at Wendy's, will you pay me back?"

"Bev, what is your social security number?" calls husband.

So, I get to the school and retrieve final exam study boy plus neighbor girl. I'm wondering how many days it has been since I have eaten lunch before 3:00.

"Mom," says West Point guy, "I need to know my PIN number."

"I'll call you with the number when I get home."

"Mom," an urgent-sounding graduation practice son begins,"I just pulled onto a road that is bumper- to- bumper traffic, and I am almost out of gas. I'm exiting now, come quickly with a gas can!"

I think I will refer this call to Dad who, hopefully by now, will have finished with his appointment and might be driving in graduation practice boy's vicinity. "I'll handle it," husband assures me.

I'm dialing West Point guy to give him the PIN when I am interrupted by "Is 6:45 good for dinner ," the person with whom we are to meet tonight calls to ask.

"Mom," says West Point guy, "I bought a stamp, and the card worked fine." (A stamp? My cheapskate son bought a stamp with his debit card...not a candy bar...a stamp.)

On a day like today...

Thankful Days

A Good Day to be Thankful

Morning on the Porch

Clayton Baby Pic

Today is the best weather Arkansas has to offer. Knowing how brutal the summers can be around here, we know when it's essential to capture the fleeting moments...and today is one.

Fresh Air

I will throw open the doors (because Hillcrest Cottage's 86 year old windows are mostly painted shut) and I'll not be concerned about the flies that may enter. I'll let the outside come in, and I will take the inside out.

Porch Time

I have a very long extension cord for my laptop, so I am on my porch listening to the birds celebrate the day.
Dining today will most definitely be alfresco.

Mac Knows

Mac the Labradoodle knows what an awesome day it is. Her snoot is held high taking in all the smells of spring.

Clayton's Birthday

Another reason to celebrate is that my Clayton turns 20 today. When I held this child for the first time, I could never have predicted where he would be today.
Sadly, this is first of many birthdays he will spend away from home. We will see him in June and have already made plans to celebrate then.
This son of mine would not allow any cake or food to celebrate..."Mom, it can get crazy, people come in and leave crumbs all over the floor" (Hello, Me).

Graduation Week at West Point

For now, he is safe and secure behind the gray stone walls of West Point getting up at 4 a.m. to begin "Graduation Week". It's a week full of ceremony, parades, and, on Saturday, hats tossed in the air. (West Point began the tradition of tossing hats after the graduation ceremony. The cadets write notes inside their hats and attach money. Children run onto the field gathering them afterward.)

May 18, 1989

The morning of May 18, 1989 was a very different setting. I was a very different person, certainly not the 'mom-type'. People used to laugh at the thought of me holding a baby.

Child birth class was an interesting experience as I remember filling out a form which on the top read: Mother's Name.
Turning to my husband I said, "Why do they want my mother's name?"

Oh...I'm the mother now.

Loooooong Labor

My first labor pain began in a YWCA board meeting; others followed which kept me up through the night and continued into the next day. I was told in the class that, with my first, I could stay home as long as I could endure the pain.
I wonder if they knew how tough I was?
Twenty four hours later, we decided to check into the hospital. Proud to say he was delivered drug-free...not something I recommend, just something I had wanted to accomplish.

Meet Clayton

A large crowd gathered that evening and 30 hours later at 9:00 p.m. Jeffery Clayton Kinley appeared.

I laugh because we have waited on Clayton ever since.
It's the one quality I am hoping the military will change in him.

My Reward

Twenty years later, I am amazed at the quality of my son... the man. He is so much more than I had ever expected him to be...and we have always dreamed big for this guy we called 'Special Boy' throughout his childhood.
It is so amazing to reap the 'harvest' of many years of plowin', plantin', and waterin'. A child like Clayton is a true reward.

Clayton...if you read this...I love you, buddy. Happy 20th birthday!

Thankless Days

On a thankless day like today I would like to run away to a mountaintop cabin, raise hogs and chickens, milk my own cow, grow my own veggies, and sit for many hours on a porch overlooking the peaceful valley below.

Mac the Labradoodle would nap quietly at my feet.

The sound of wind blowing through the leaves and the cawing of crows would fill my ears.

I would ride into civilization only for coffee beans, dental floss, art supplies, M&Ms, and regularly scheduled dental visits.

I would forget about changing the world or being involved in any one's life but my own.

On thankless days, I wonder why I have to care about anyone beyond myself. I wonder why I have to shoulder all the stupid problems and tangled messes that everyone else creates for themselves. Why do I have to listen...

and even more...

why do I have to care?

Why is my son training to be an Army officer... to serve a people who live self-consumed lives... who would drive over the grave of his mangled body in their expensive cars drinking their lattes-to-go...and never... even... notice...

much less, care.

"I wonder who will be the next American Idol?" is the deepest pondering of their day.

Serving people is a crappy (oooo...I did use that word), thankless way to live.

I'm turning 50 soon, and the world-changing idealism of youth is no longer burning brightly.

There are days when it is dark...and lonely...and...

thankless.

On these thankless days I wonder why I can't be lonely and thankless on my mountain cabin porch, instead of here in the middle of people making stupid choices, people knocking on my door late at night after a tiring day...

people driving their expensive cars over my grave.

"Is this the part of the movie where we die?"

I guess if you are reading this, and you have never had these thoughts...then you may be the one mindlessly riding and latte-drinking and consuming...

and forgetting to say "thanks" to those who mountain cabin-lessly serve you.

Mother's Day Report

This is a Post-Mother's Day News Alert from the very testosterone-filled Hillcrest Cottage and is dedicated to all the moms who did not receive dinner served by candlelight, roses, or a promise by kids to clean their rooms.

My Gifts

From my West Point cadet deep in the trenches of Term End Exams with Chemistry covering two semesters greeting him early this morning, I received a Mother's Day greeting in my Facebook inbox complete with a promise to call tonight. From my high school senior, I got a combo text message which was part "I'm on my way home" (from a midnight movie), part sincere Mother's Day tribute. From my youngest (who's soccer team won the state championship on Saturday...go Warriors!), a huge bear hug was my gift.

I am Blessed

This is what living in a house filled with guys is like. However, a mother who has the love of her children every day of the year is blessed, and I have that.

Regular life may now resume.

Blank Journal and Strong Will

To Stuart, Who Encourages Me to Not Live in the Past...

This Post is For You

I have a new journal, and it makes me happy. A blank journal is full of hope, wishes, promise, and dreams for the future.

The blankness calls to me," Write your destiny. Make your life count."

Psalm 90

I echo what Moses prayed in Psalm 90:

Teach us to number our days,
that we may present to You a heart
of wisdom...
And let the favor of the Lord our God
be upon us:
And do confirm for us the work of our hands;
Yes, confirm the work of our hands.

Change

My life is changing. During one year's course, I will have sent two sons to college and one father to heaven. I will have become 50 years young... which alone brings changes enough.

My Will

I am making a conscious choice to face the future with a "positive will powered by the Holy Spirit." I own my will. God allows me to make choices. I believe my will is the greatest thing God has given to me. I have a will of iron, and it can not be broken. When my will is bent, it only becomes stronger.

In the DNA

I get this from my dad.

Two of my sons have inherited "the will" and, maybe the third also, but, because of how #2 is wired, his will has yet to be fully tested.
Lots about son #2 is unknown. He is a mystery package slowly unwrapping, like a Christmas gift revealing new amazement and joy as each layer peels away. The unknown in Stuart is uniquely special. He keeps us tuned in: watching and waiting and wondering about the awesomeness that maturity will reveal.

All 3 are Different

Clayton has been on a clear, straight (many would say predictable) path since the 9th grade. People look at him and say,"You are exactly where and who you should be." His will focuses intently ahead, and he does not waver.

With Stuart, we will watch expectantly to see what he'll pull out of his hat. I know it's not gonna be a rabbit... rabbits are assumed. I know it will be incredible because he is incredible.

The will of #3...oh my... "no" may be the same in many languages...but not his. He has taught me about persistence and goal setting. He lives by the motto: It never hurts to ask.
I can't believe what he gets because he is not afraid.

Never Hurts to Ask

Once, when walking past the mall food court, where Davis had always received a free slushy sample, he asked,
"Could I please have a slushy sample?"
"We don't give out samples any more, kid," was the curt reply.
We continued through the mall, but had to walk past the same food vendor upon leaving.
Davis approached the vendor again with a question possessing genius beyond his age,
"How much are your free samples?"
"Why nothing...they are free," the pretzel-making teen replied, not realizing he had been duped by a 10 year old.
"In that case, may I have one, please?"
With slushy in hand, my son left the mall.

I Embrace It

So...I have this will which can not be broken. When I am told "no", I usually ask, "Why not?" and my follow-up resolve is, "I will." When I am told it can not be done, I begin to count the ways that it can be done. This is just how God made me.
A few years back, I decided to rejoice in what some may label as 'stubbornness', and I asked the Holy Spirit to empower me as I embrace this strong will of mine.

Obstacles

Cluttering my path today are more potential obstacles than I have ever faced in all my life. Because our family has chosen Robert Frost's 'road less traveled by', the challenges are great.

Today I am inspired by Clayton who plods steadily toward his goals. I think of Davis who can not be stopped by "no". I remember my father who never quit in all his 84 years and would not allow me to even speak the words,"I can't." I rejoice in the mystery which Stuart has taught me to embrace as something which gives fun and excitement to every day like...
Christmas.

The Holy Spirit Will

I know the more a person tries to do, the more they are likely to fail. But, to never try is also to never win. As I face this day, I ask the Holy Spirit to strengthen my will to focus on one step at a time, not on mountains that seemingly block my way.
I will be encouraged by Paul's words in Philippians:

"I can do all things through Him who strengthens me."

Today

Today is young and blank and full of hope.
I am wondering who might be encouraged or inspired by even just...
the reading of this post.

As I'm numbering my days, I'm wondering:
How will my life count this day?

What is Your Greatest Strength?
How Will You Overcome your Obstacles?

Time Turned Backward

"BACKWARD, TURN BACKWARD, O TIME, IN YOUR FLIGHT,
MAKE ME A CHILD AGAIN...JUST FOR TONIGHT!"
---ELIZABETH AKERS ALLEN

I have learned that: Childhood happens but once; there is but one magical season. The rest of life is spent in attempts to recapture its essence or in ignorance of its memory. One time only. There is never a "do-over".

My favorite childhood classics are A.A. Milne's "Winnie the Pooh" and "Peter Pan" by J.M. Barrie. One story celebrates the ordinary, every day life of a boy; the other book, one who refuses to grow up and the adults who have forgotten the beauty of the childhood experience.

With my second son's high school graduation upon me, I am reflecting upon my child's youth and my role in it. I have learned (Musings of a Housewife): there is no substitute for being there. By making such a bold, simple statement, I am not implying something negative about the situation of any other parent. At the same time I am not diminishing my experience by not saying it. When I say to one son "You are very smart, and I am so pleased at how hard you to work in school." I want to say something about that boy. It means what it means. It does not mean I am saying to the other two, " Y'all are stupid and a lazy bums that never do your homework." Comprende?

I have learned: A mom's life is a life without thanks. so sometimes I have to pat myself on the ole back.I have sacrificed lots in my life, including the putting of my own dreams on hold, the living of life on much less financially, and the literal giving of my entire being to the cause of being always available for my children. Now, as I am sending the second of three away to college soon, I can confidently say this: I have no regrets.

I have learned to put others before myself: I have changed every diaper. I have put the magical band-aid on every 'boo-boo'. I have been present through rollerblading, bicycle, and driving lessons. I've seen every tooth pulled and delivered every tooth fairy surprise. I have read stories, helped with reading and homework and projects, called out spelling words and listened to speeches. I have been on field trips, missions trips, and, now letting go as I send another one on a senior trip.
I have learned many roles: I've been a nanny, cook, housekeeper, laundry mistress, doctor, baker,teacher, cheerleader, coach, taxi driver, social director and party planner, inspirational speaker, drill sargent, Bible teacher and preacher and discipler, mentor, tutor, speed trainer, seamstress and costume -maker, videographer and photographer, exercise instructor, homework taskmaster, alarm clock, towne crier, pyscologist, Dr. Phil.

I've been a mom for almost 20 years, so I didn't learn all these things this week, but on the other hand, I re-learn them all the time.

What other roles have you 'played' as a mom?

Last School Lunch

Lots of 'lasts' will be appearing from now until August when Stuart packs his black Volvo to leave for college. I don't know why, but making the last school lunch is tons more sad than the graduation ceremony will be.

Maybe because it is a quiet, ordinary thing that could easily slip away unnoticed without fanfare. Graduation comes with music and speeches and diplomas. The last school lunch is packed quietly in its brown paper bag, gets quickly snatched from the counter, shoved into the back pack, and whisked out the door in the every day rush to school.

Every day.

Sadness comes when 'every day' becomes 'yesterday'.

Not being a fan of sentiment, Stuart would try to encourage me by saying, "Oh, Mom, quit living in the past."

My Stu

Stuart views the world from a very unique lens. He is not distracted by life's 'noise' and 'static', so he is free to see things the way they truly are. This is the quality that makes him really good at solving computer problems. It's also the quality that makes him the funniest person I know. Stuart is an avid people-watcher, and when every one else is distracted, Stuart notices the stuff no one else sees. His commentaries can make me laugh for days.

When he was in early grade school, Stuart wondered all Labor Day why Labor Day would be a holiday. The two ideas did not seem to match. I didn't know either, but I remember it was a fun day of being in our back yard. The boys climbed trees and caught a frog. That night, Stuart said, "I still don't know why they call it Labor Day, but it was a really good day."

This same guy is truly puzzled by people screaming for their sports teams while watching games on TV.
He wonders,"Why do you yell? They can't hear you."
He's right...but I still yell anyway.

After Stuart's first day of school, I inquired, "How was it?"
"It was okay. I think I liked it," was his little freckled face reply.

When I picked Stuart up from his second day of school, again I asked, "How was it?"
"Mom, it was okay," was his simple reply, " And you don't have to ask me that every day. It was okay. If anything changes, I'll let you know."

Things are changing. This morning I made my senior's last school lunch...

ever...

and it was not okay.

What 'lasts' have made you sad?

Spring Art is in Bloom

The Yearbooks are Here!!!

I was a hard working member of my high school yearbook staff. Under the guise of journalism, I enjoyed putting my own photo on as many pages as possible. That was the 'name of the game' and a great motivation for the many long hours it took until we received the long-awaited call of "The yearbooks are here!!!" For the staff that meant a night of unloading boxes and implementing the next day's distribution plan. It was also a cause for great celebration.

Yearbooks Are Still Cool

My two high schoolers brought their yearbooks home yesterday. With all the things that have changed, with all the things that are passing into obscurity, I am glad the tradition of high school yearbooks carries the same excitement for my two boys as it did for me 'in the day'.

Who Would Sell Their Yearbook?

I am always sad to see yearbooks at flea markets. I would never part with mine. I use them to prod my memory and especially love going through them with a group of old high school friends where, "Oh my gosh, where is he now?" and "Do you know she is a (whatever) now?" and "He still looks the same." are the catch phrases of the gathering. As the years roll by it becomes, "His son looks more like I remember him than he does." Yikes...happens to us all.

Sign My Yearbook

What was written in our yearbooks was extremely critical for us girls. We spent weeks doing so, lugging our yearbooks to signing parties and to our senior trip. We didn't just say "BFF", we wrote novels. Those writings are priceless to me today. I know boys are different, but I lament my youngest son's decision, "I'm not doing the writing-thing this year...too much trouble."

Yearbook Pics Become Reunion Name Tags

Nowadays, it is popular...even critical the older one gets...for the yearbook pics to be used as name tags during reunions. "Oh...great..." some might say as they struggle to shirk their high school persona. Seriously, at my last reunion (30???) I had trouble recognizing people and the picture name tags got me through without sticking my foot in my mouth. Let me tell you, too, as the charwoman of the reunion (why I did this I'll never know...still tired just mentioning it) I made name tags for every single person in our class because I didn't know who might show up at the last minute. Killed me that so many name tags went unused. Killed me that so many came for whom there was no name tag pre-made.

More Work for Me

"Did you have your senior picture taken that year?" I would ask politely.
"Sure I did, " was always their reply.
"I wonder why it wasn't in the yearbook?" I would asked quizzically.
Fortunately, I had brought all year's annuals and was able, on the spot, to capture their pic from other years. I spent the whole first half of the party running back to the hotel office's copier, copying their image from the other books and making new name tags... for which I am not so certain people really appreciated.
As the night and my patience wore on, I started saying, "Here's a blank name tag, draw your pic here."

Reminder of Time Passing

So the yearbooks are here and another school year is done. Always a sober reminder to this mom that more time with my boys is forever gone. I am facing another May filled with 'lasts'. I don't know why, but the last school lunch is a heartbreaker. And, then, graduation.

Do you get sad at the school year's end?

Would you ever allow your yearbooks to end up at a flea market?

Senior Prom Saga No. 3

According to my friend at Musings of a Housewife, I should have learned something this past week. So, the senior prom saga continues....

Senior Prom Pics Appeared Immediately

I have already written about how prom pics began to appear on Facebook the morning after before non-prom goers had even arisen. All the pics were there to be viewed as I drank my morning coffee. It was mildly entertaining to see the hideous tuxes (What were they thinking?), the beautiful dresses, who had hired a limo, and who was with whom. I learned something sad about today's parents.

Stuart has Taught Me about Accepting Others' Differences

My Stuart has taught me a lot about being a mom and also about how to accept those who are different than myself. He is very unique and has his own way of thinking. He is completely comfortable in his own skin...maybe more than anyone I have ever known. He is not a 'rebel' but refuses to conform or to be pressed into a mold (Hmmmm...there might be a Bible verse on that subject). He chose 'Prom Not To Be' , and I accept this.

Clayton has Taught Me Cadets are Not Uniformly the Same

Clayton is also unique, but there's no getting around the fact that he is at West Point planning a military career, which denotes a certain amount of conformity. However, Clayton has taught me that cadets aren't robots, they have personalities, too.
This time last year Clayton was a senior who had chosen 'Prom To Be' and was stunningly handsome in his classic black tux. I got three pictures and five minutes. That beat the junior year's record when he had come in the door from a day of shooting guns with 10 minutes to shower and dress before he had to leave. I think we were figuring out studs as he was walking out he door.

One Went to Prom One Did Not

Here's the point: One went to prom and the other did not. I am uniquely able to understand both perspectives. As their mom, I accept both of them for who they are and try hard not to make them conform into the image of what I think they should be. This the part of parenting that has both challenged me the most and, at the same time, been the most exciting. Parenting in such a way as to gently guide but also allow the child to find his own path is as exciting as opening up a cool Christmas present every day. There are always new discoveries!

Some Parents...

Many parents expect their children to be a 'chip off the ole block' and a mini-me child is almost always displayed proudly on the family mantle. This an easy, natural bent of parenting. I have learned through many years of observing families that sometimes this 'chip- mentality' can be the child's natural way, but, more often, the child conforms to parental expectations in order to receive acceptance and affirmation. Dangerous.
And, then, there is the parent who 'wasn't' so now they are determined their child will be the one 'who is'. Easy to spot these types. They love to re-live life through their children; this often produces loud, bragging dads and moms who dress like high school girls. Do not do this.

Have Parents Gone Crazy?

So I'm looking at the Facebook pics seeing all the kids lined up (usually on the really nice house's massive staircase). First the girls. Now the boys. Now couple by couple. Now all together. Now with mom. Mom? Another mom? What's going on?
And then I see the pic of the parental paparazzi. Oh my gosh...have we parents gone crazy?

My Prom Was More Simple

On the night of Stairway to Heaven in '77, My dad told me that I was beautiful. When my date arrived, my mom helped pin on the boutonniere, took a few pics, my dad gave him a stern look which all boys understood (My dad wasn't a hunter, so he couldn't clean his gun and cleaning his golf clubs just wouldn't have communicated the same thing. He was reduced to 'the look'.), and we were on our way. My prom was much more simple.
I love my children. I love the pictures. I want to capture the moments, but I wonder if our putting them in the spotlight too much creates a false impression of their importance. On the one hand I want my children to know how special they are...on the other hand...maybe the return to two pics and a stern look would be better.

What do you think?

Is making our children into lil celebrities healthy for them?

Spring-Inspired Art

What Stu Did Instead ( Prom Saga No. 2)

Yesterday afternoon and evening was a memorable time for our Hillcrest Cottage which is soon to lose yet another permanent resident in 3 1/2 short months. The clock is ticking until #2 son Stuart leaves for college, so time spent together is becoming more precious.

Stuart is Leaving Soon for College

"I can't believe that you will be leaving soon," I lamented to Stuart. "I still haven't gotten over Clayton being gone." (Clayton is #1 son delivered by fam to West Point on June 30th last year.)
"Oh, Mom," was the typical reply of my awesome son who chose Senior Prom Not To Be.
It was the perfect spring night. The weather was fabulous, I was feeling lazy, and my husband sweetly volunteered to fire up the grill and get steaks at the grocery. This was all a true treat for this mom who had been working full-time all week at my very sporatic, very part-time job acting as a "fake patient" at the nearby university medical center training med students. (Whew...just writing that very long sentence made me tired.)

Steaks Were on the Grill

I sat lazily on the front porch as the smell of steaks grilling drifted up front. Stuart, who was friendless for the evening was very content to be at home with no distractions.
We ate our steaks by candlelight underneath a canopy of carolina jasmine. We sat together outside until almost 11:00.
Jeff said several times,"We need to savor this moment and take mental pictures of this. This time next year, Stuart won't be here."
Jeff called Clayton at West Point putting his I-Phone on speaker. For a few short minutes we were all together talking and laughing and making Clayton wish that he was home eating steaks with the fam.

Senior Prom Pics Arrive

This morning before I could even drink my coffee, the prom pics had already begun to appear on Facebook. Tonight Stuart is back in the groove, out with his friends listening to a local band and drinking coffee. Last night was a special family memory. I'm glad we decided to seize the moment.

What's a time recently when you 'seized the moment' and were so glad you did?

What I Learned This Week #3

I learned that when I am working my part-time job all day for four days straight and it is soccer season and the laundry continues to pile up along with the dishes and there is nothing in the refrigerator to eat, so I have to make a grocery run...I don't have time to blog or even to think of a clever way to link this page to Musings of a Housewife.
I also long to hear The Quiet calling my name.

Sr. Prom : To Be or Not To Be? (Prom Saga No. 1)

Senior Prom. A rite- of- passage in our society. For some the experience matches the expectations. For others, not so much.

Senior Prom 2008

Last year my oldest went to prom with a group of his best friends, stayed out all night complete with jumping into a pool fully clothed as the sun was rising over the picturesque Arkansas River ( how all proms should end). It wasn't over-hyped at our Hillcrest Cottage, so I think he was surprised at the fun he experienced. I got one picture out of him as he rushed out the door. Such is the life of a boy's mom.

Stairway to Heaven in '77

My senior prom was over-planned. I was on every committee in charge of it and, as chair of decorations, I worked non-stop for at least a month. High School Me was in the middle of all perceived fun, and my senior prom would never have been missed. On the down side, I was also in a relationship that had long lost its youthful fizz. My prom was over-hyped. No boy could have met my unrealistic prom expectations. I had an okay time.

Senior Prom To Be?

So, this week I'm having another conversation with Stuart the senior trying one last time to persuade him to attend his prom. Everyone has had their time to nag him. His friends have tried every angle, and so have I. The boy is simply not interested in going.
"Mom," Stuart said using his famous black and white observation skills. [These are the skills which make him "Stuart". These observation skills make him both the funniest person I have ever known and an awesome judge of character. I can always trust the Stu-o-meter. He immediately cuts through all the 'fat' of life and goes straight to the core.] He continued,"Why do I want to dress in clothes that I don't want to wear to go somewhere where everyone eats the same meal. Afterward, I would go to the same room as everyone else and listen to the same lame music with a group where half of the people I can't stand. Another fourth of the group I normally like but not when they are with the original half I don't like. The rest are my friends, and I shouldn't have to suffer through a prom just to be with my friends."

But,It's Your Senior Prom!

See what I mean? He has a special no b.s. detector. He can always see situations so clearly. It's why he is so good at helping me with computer problems. What can I say? The kid pretty much hit the nail on the head. But I can't tell him that so I said, "Stuart...it's your senior prom!"
"Mom, why should I have to do something I don't want to do... just because society dictates that I should?"
Silence.
"Stuart, you are everything I have ever trained you to be (He is an independent thinker, not swayed by the crowd, confident in his choices,and makes his own decisions)...and... I don't like it.

Senior Prom Not To Be

Half of me still wanted him to not miss his senior prom.
The other half was glad for him to be "Stuart".

Was Your Senior Prom Good...or Bad?
Did You Jump in a Pool, Lake, or Fountain?

My New Hat

I have always loved hats...especially funky ones. They can bring so much humor into life without using words. In my younger and wilder days I had a reputation for wearing unique hats. [Disclaimer: Funky hats must be worn responsibly, only when the wearer possesses innate abilities to know when and how.] My college favorite was a moose antler hat found while skiing in Vail. The moose antler hat doesn't sound unique in today's world, but, trust me, in those days it would draw some attention. I loved that hat and wore it like it was the most normal thing I could do. Therein lies the wordless humor.

Stuart has Inherited the Gene

My Stuart is definitely the funniest person in our family. His humor is quiet and does not draw attention to itself. He has inherited the you-can-wear-a-funky-hat gene. During his 18th birthday trip to Las Vegas (with Dad to see Cirque Du Soleil's Beatle performance), he won a crazy hat which he wore with much humor. And, when I see the pics, the laughs just keep on coming.

Mom Hats

I thought I knew what it meant to wear hats but didn't really know until I became a 'mom'. Three guys call me 'Mom', so I have a multitude of hats. Naturally, the hats are added, subtracted and morphed as the seasons change.
Diaper Changer, Bottle Feeder, Nose Wiper, Story Reader were a lifetime ago.
Homework Czar, Carpool Queen, Social Director, Baseball Coach seem distant also.
At one point, it was normal for me to drive two to three hours per day. Taxi Driver Hat will be retired in August on Davis' 16th b-day.
Of course, maid, laundry mistress, and cook are hats I wear wearily. (Btw, did you know that good help is hard to find these days? Even when I am my own help.)

'Unavailable' Calls

'Unavailable' ( Whenever my West Point cadet calls, my caller ID says 'unavailable' for security reasons.) rings me up mid-evening last night. "Mom, can you help me with my taxes?"
"Clayton, the deadline is tonight at midnight." I replied trying to not sound as I-told-you-to-not-wait-until-the-last-minute-to-do-your-taxes as I felt. West Point even had tax professionals that could have assisted Unavailable . Aaarrrgghh.
"Can't you ask an upperclassman to help you? Our taxes are totally different, and are done by a professional."
"Mom, just help me out. I'm using Turbo Tax"
(Oh, great. Isn't that how our dear Treasury Secretary got himself into tax trouble? Maybe, then, if Clayton did anything wrong the IRS will be sure to extend sympathy.Ha.)
Anyway, I helped the best that I could, even added a enlightening and sagely tax-withholding commentary. When I was through with Unavailable, I reflected upon the new hat I had just worn. A new season. A new mom- of- adult- child kind of hat.

More Hats

No time for lots of reflection. More hats to wear. I wearily put a wet load of clothes into the dryer, finished cleaning a kitchen still dirty from the dinner I had cooked and served to 20 teenagers, and walked upstairs to see if youngest son was on his way to bed.

What Hats Do You Wear?
What's Your Fave/Least Fave?

Pirates and Tea Parties: I'm Clairvoyant

This past week the top news stories have been about 'pirates' and 'tea parties'. I am going to be bold enough to say I am the only one anywhere who had put those two news stories together... before either stories even happened! Coincidence...or clairvoyance?
Read my post "All My Pirates Have Sailed Away" and also "Tea Party for Pirates" to catch a glimpse of my awesome crystal ball gazing skills.

Random Reasons Why I Love Hillcrest

The Neighborhood 'Crazy'

I live in an incredible mid-town neighborhood that is very pedestrian-friendly. I could walk to everything I ever need in life. If my boys didn't attend a private school, which is a 20 minute drive away, I would park my car and never get in it again. I tell my boys that one day I will be the neighborhood 'crazy' who wears funny hats and drives her three-wheeled 'bike' to the grocery store.
Shortly after my youngest had celebrated his tenth birthday, with his pockets full of birthday cash, we spotted a shiny adult trike parked near a store. This trike had been tempting me for a while. It was wrapped with wicker and was oh-so European looking (also oh-so expensive....$800).
"How much is that bike?" my very 'rich', generous son asked. I promise he was determined to buy that trike for me (awwww moment).
Back to my neighborhood...

Here are 25 Random Reasons Why I Love My Hillcrest Neighborhood:

1. We have a tiny hamburger 'joint' that's been around since the 40's, and they make the best chocolate malts.
2. Our neighborhood is casual and flip flops are welcome everywhere.
3. The people are very eclectic and diverse...lots of artists and creative types.
4. We have two world-class pizza places within walking distance.
5. Shady oak trees.
6. Front porches with guitar players on them.
7. Saturday home renovation sounds of hammers and saws.
8. Fresh ground coffee from our local coffee, tea & candy company.
9. The Arkansas Razorbacks play at a stadium also within walking distance. On fall game days, lots of festive tail-gating in front yards.
10. Sidewalks that get used a lot.
11. Sunday afternoons we have a very fun 'junk' shop that displays its new inventory on its front lawn. It's fun to get there first for the best bargains.
    
12. Summer walks to the shave ice stand.
13. The public library is very close.
14. I have a favorite park which makes me think I am miles away from the city.
15. We have doggie fountain.
16. Art Galleries featuring neighborhood artists.
    
17. Our bank gives out free food on Fridays.
18. The first Thursday of the month, Hillcrest opens all its shops, has street bands in mild weather and everyone rolls out.
19. The nearby middle school has a track for all those New Year's resolutions I make.
20. Church bells chime after weddings.
21. Greek, Mexican, American, Brazilian, French, and Italian food within blocks of each other.
22. Used to have a cool coffee house, but now it's 'for sale'. Somebody please buy it!
23. Seeing fresh life breathed into an old house.
24. We have bumper stickers that make me laugh.
25. We are not the McMansion neighborhood.

What Makes Your Neighborhood Special?

What I learned This Week #2

Oh my goodness, Jo-Lynne ( Musings of a Housewife), it could not possibly be Tuesday again so soon!
Learning is like a chain with many links for me. I learn simple things which lead to larger life principles. This kind of learning usually occurs when I make a mistake. I encourage myself by saying,"It is not a mistake made in vain, if I learn how to not repeat the same thing again." The simple mistakes I made doing computer stuff yesterday led to great time loss-age which led to extreme frustration but also led me to the learning curve and a resolution to not repeat the same error in the future. This makes it all good.

Easter Egg Hunting Days

My 18 year old Stuart has expressed concern regarding this blog. "Mom," Stuart advised,"you need to look forward. Quit writing about the past."
This was an upsetting advisement because I am all about the future. I just re-thought my house full of antiques in order that I would not be perceived as outdated. I just threw out tons of stuff from the attic so that I would not cling to the past. I regularly change my house's paint colors and fabrics. I am always re-doing something!
I concluded the real issue is not my blog but rather an 18 year old trying to shed his past of oxford bucks and matching brother outfits, among other childish things. Last year his brother Clayton observed that I had warped their childhood with "those geeky red-toed shoes" (See pic) . Ha.
I thoughtfully considered Stuart's warning, and confidently concluded I am not living in the past. Contrarily, I am happily pressing toward the future. Still, I do have great memories, the past brings more smiles than regrets. My writing opens my mental scrapbook. I'm not living there...I'm just remembering....

Easter Egg Drills

"Boys," I warned ominously, "the world of Easter egg hunting is a cruel one. Other kids will rip eggs right out of your hand. Hold on tight. Guard your baskets from spills and thieves. Don't stop to admire your eggs or eat candy. Keep moving at all costs."
My competitive nature always came out in times like these. So,next, we did practice drills working on speed and focus. Thus, my pre-school boys were fully prepared for their first public egg hunt.

Let The Competition Begin

A Kinleystead Easter always meant brunch followed by 3 boys on the front porch politely posing, baskets full of candy and silly putty. Our Easter egg hunts were well-anticipated and, with three boys, could be quite competitive. Someone usually gloated; someone usually cried. Such is life.
Lots of plastic eggs were filled with money and candy. The biggest prize, however, was the coveted 'Golden Egg', followed by the silver and bronze. These eggs were harder to find and were filled with Kinleystead coupons entitling the bearer to all kinds of fun activities. Lots of stuff to which Mom usually said "no".
Ballpark concession stand treats, grocery gum machine, and trips to dollar store. Other favorites were Saturday breakfast out with Dad, I get to choose the dinner menu,and I don't have to clean my room. As the boys matured, the coupons grew with them. Gumball machine morphed into I-Tune cards, quarters into dollars. Fun times.

End of an Era

Last year I made an executive decision without consulting the guys. No more Easter egg hunts. To my surprise they were visibly disappointed. It had to be. Somehow, the image of my very-soon-to-be WP new cadet looking for plastic eggs somehow just didn't seem right.

What Cool Things Have You Added to Your Easter Egg Hunts?

What I Learned This Week #1

My new blog friend, Jo-Lynne at Musings of a Housewife encouraged me to do this post. Every Tuesday I have been challenged to share something which I have learned this past week... whether it be silly, serious, life-changing, or simply an observation. I love this challenge! Taking note of life in my Hillcrest Cottage is this blog's purpose. Therefore...every week I'll be involved in this new mental exercise.

Most Improved

I learn stuff all the time...every day. That is a catch-22 statement sorta like receiving the 'Most Improved Player' award at the sports banquet. The 'Most Improved' Award has always made me ask several questions: Was I really that bad? Am I still that bad? Am I getting this because I'm awesome now...or because you had to give me something and this is all was that's left?

Do I learned something new every week because I am so 'unlearn-ed'? Do I learn new things because I enjoy both learning and keeping life fresh? Yes...and yes.

Stinky Soccer Player

In the seventh grade my Davis announced that he had joined the school's soccer team. We laughed at him...out loud. "Davis, you stink at soccer!" was my reply. (Doesn't sound like an affirming "mom" comment. Be assured that Davis and I are "cool" . He won't be entering therapy at age 30 over this comment. Trust me, there's plenty more for which my kids might need to receive counsel after having suffered the fate of being my children...ha.)
It was true...Davis, who is a gifted athlete, did stink big-time at soccer. The last time he had been on a team, he stood statue-like in the field every game refusing to move or touch the ball. I had thought that season was a soccer career ender; another activity added to the 'Well We Tried That' list.
Out of nowhere, Davis developed an extremely strong passion for soccer. He worked his tail off that seventh grade season. At the end, he did receive the 'Most Improved Player' award. He was very proud...and so was I.

Davis' Passion

This soccer season he is on the high school team; people marvel that he is such a 'young' player! He's awesome. Mom Lesson and, maybe this brings me to what I learned this week: The passion for soccer came from within Davis. This passion was not the result of parental pressure to be a 'mini-me'. Husband and I are totally free of MMSS (Mini-Me Sports Syndrome) in the soccer department...didn't have that sport when we were his age...whew. Davis doesn't have to endure the long-winded tales of our youthful greatness...double whew.
I am free to be Davis' number one soccer fan and encourager. I don't care if he ever goes 'pro'; I just want him to have fun. Oh yeah...sports are supposed to be fun.

What Passions Do You Encourage in Your Kids?
What's the Best Award You Have Ever Received?

Ode to My Pets

"Help! Something is wrong with my chick!"
My mother, still asleep in bed, opened her eyes to my seven year old self dangling a purple Easter chickie inches above her face.
"It's dead," was her reply.
"Eeeeewwww!" screamed little me, immediately releasing it upon her unsuspecting face.
There's a reason why they don't allow purple, pink, and blue chickies during the Easter season any more because of high mortality rates. Why I was allowed to have a purple chickie while living in a high-rise apartment building, I'll never know. Had she survived her purple-ness, there couldn't have been a bright future ahead of her.

No Cats Allowed

My childhood was full of pets. Multiple bunnies, turtles and goldfish. Others included a sea horse and a canary, and always a dog, but never a cat. My mother's childhood Persian had a "crazy fit" one day and Grandmother called Grandad the sheriff who took the cat away, and no one ever spoke of the results. Cruel boys on the playground , however, did suggest the nearby Mississippi River.

My Childhood Dogs

Tried to ride Pudd the Dachshund like a horse and still have the facial scars to document his response. Pepe Levine the Jewish poodle was adopted from my grandmother's friend because I had wanted a poodle so badly. On my seventh birthday I received Coquette "Cokie" the French toy poodle (in the 60's the dog was always introduced as a French poodle...with a pedigree) who survived until I was married.

Kinleystead Dog Roster

The Kinleystead has seen Tifhy the Lhasa Apso (RIP... who loved to bite my boys' rear ends. After baths they would run naked through the house screaming with Tifhy following behind), Pepper the Cocker Spaniel (now blind, who the Kinley boys wish RIP upon because she is 12 and still not housetrained), and Mac the Labradoodle ( adored, spoiled by all, promoted to human status).

The Kinleystead Zoo

I think all families should have pets. Their chirps, their licks, their dependence, their humor all breathe life into a household.
At the pinnacle , of the Kinleystead's pet keeping there were two dogs, two birds, 3 bunnies, and a revolving door of lizards, frogs, and abandoned baby birds. No cats. No ferrets. No snakes or tarantulas. No rodents with tails.

How Pets Met Their Ends

I am a very faithful pet caregiver, so I was surprised to recount how many Kinleystead pets had met"untimely" or even violent departures.

• P.J. Funnybunny: "The flies have killed my bunny!" screamed five year old Clayton from the Kinleystead back yard...too much sun.
• Spot the Bunny: gone after only two days...too much birthday party.
• Puddles, Toot, and Flops (all bunnies): ripped violently out of cages by unknown animals.
• Cotton and Brownie (also bunnies): sent to the rabbit adoption center when one hissed...didn't know they did that... at me; the other leapt through the air and bit Flops who I was holding...scary.
• Noah the Lovebird: nicknamed "Vampire" because his beak drew so much blood from any hand that came near his cage. He deserves his own blog post...stay tuned.
• Ringo the Quaker Parrot: oh...what a story...he will definitely have his own post!
• Little Caesar the Tail-less Hamster: bought for a book report visual and lasted 2 years...think that's all that can be expected out of a hamster.
• Grumm the also Tail-less Hamster: replaced Little Caesar, escaped a lot, and got on his squeaky wheel at precisely 9:00 nightly...lasted 1 1/2 years.

More Pets to Come

Have I mentioned I have always wanted to raise chickens who lay eggs? And I still have a soft spot in my heart for bunnies hopping about the garden. When my nest is empty, I wonder if I will fill it again with pets...hmmm.

What was Your Fave Pet or Pet's Name?

USMA West Point Mom and USMA Plebe Parent Weekend 2009

A friend, who happens to also be a West Point "Old Grad", recently informed me that the term used for those who have everything "West Point" is "Gray Hog". Well...sign my husband up for that club because he practically bought ,not one , but several entire bookstores when we were at West Point for Plebe Parent Weekend 2009!

Grey Hogs

I have to be honest...just call me "Gray Hog2". It is difficult to stop myself because the West Point items are reminders of the son/plebe we have living there. However, I do not have a "West Point Mom" t-shirt or hat. Husband and I made a rule for ourselves that we just wouldn't do the ole "parent" thing in hats, t-shirts, or bumper stickers. Apparently, we perceived ourselves to be "above" that practice...ha...in the beginning...before the Gray Hog fever began.

Maybe...One Little Exception

The one exception to our "No Parent Paraphernalia" rule is my "Proud Parent of West Point Cadet" tote bag. A local bank had given the free tote bags to parents on A-Day Weekend, and I do admit to carrying this item with a great sense of pride. Love it when people ask about my Cadet at West Point.

We Have a 'Disease'

Frankly, we are extremely "gray" and very "hoggish"! On our latest weekend at West Point, as were in yet another gift store, I abruptly stopped Jeff from making a purchase by saying,"Do you really need a West Point Zippo?" To my surprise, he listened...whoa.

Reason why Gray Hog1 was right to listen to Gray Hog2 : as it turned out our West Point Class of 2012 Plebe had planned a gift for Dad.

"Here, Dad, this is your Plebe Parent Weekend favor," our son said handing Jeff a small package.

Your guess is correct...a West Point Zippo engraved with "Class of 2012"on the back.

Hmmmmm.... a bit of divine intervention in the Gray Hog1's spending spree.

The Quiet Calls My Name

I can hear the Quiet this morning. A repetitive bird chirps in the back yard. Rhythmic drips from the kitchen faucet. An occasional car noise. Mac the Labradoodle sighs.

Hadn't Been Alone In 20 Years

This is a most unusual morning because I am practically alone. Clayton's birth was twenty years ago; I have not been alone since. On the day when the last boy entered kindergarten, my husband moved his office home. Here and there I will have "alone mornings", but they are rare. Rare...that's what makes them special. I don't want to wish away my family! I'm just hearing the Quiet.
My youngest resident teenager is asleep upstairs. My oldest is hundreds of miles away dead-dog tired from cleaning every particle in his barracks room for the infamous SAMI (Saturday A.M. Inspection). Husband and middle son are flying home from Las Vegas after experiencing Stuart's awesome 18th birthday/graduation gift of seeing the Cirque Du Soleil Beatles show.

Uncomfortable Chair Syndrome

Last February, after having had the flu, I said to Jeff, "Did you know that we don't have one comfortable chair in this entire house?" (A mom can't have the flu in an isolated bedroom, I still had to be out where I could see and command the troops.) So, during my illness, I had been longing for a spot to rest my flu-infested muscles and found none.
"I've been telling you that for years, " was his simple reply.
Seriously, I had never noticed that our family was plagued by UCS (Uncomfortable-Chair Syndrome) because, quite frankly, I am always moving and never sit down. This was my eye-opening epiphany regarding our UCS and, upon my recovery, I re-arranged some furniture and created the Kinleystead's favorite sitting spot enjoyed by family and visitors alike. This place which has also received the Mac the Labradoodle Seal of Approval is my wonderful daybed window seat.

Too Many Choices!!!

What do "quiet" and "UCS" have in common? The simple answer is: The Kinleystead is rarely quiet and I am rarely still, so, I find myself being "lost" in these moments. It's like when I try shopping in a department store; I look at everything and buy nothing. Too many choices paralyze me! I say to myself, "What shall you do with this quiet or with this "free" time?" I find myself frozen in the answer. Not frozen because I am boring or have no interests...frozen because I have too many choices!

Time for Me

This morning the Quiet is calling my name. I hear it, and my response is to do something just for me.

What do you do for 'Me Time'?

Film

I still use "film". Every time I buy a new roll I wonder how long it will be before film passes away like home movie reels and polaroid cameras. If I had digital options, I could pretend that film is uber-cool and superior and artsy but difficult to be plausible when comparing film -produced photos to the digital sisters.

Film Can't Compete

The competitive nature within rises when I know my photos can't compete. Frustration results from the playing field's unevenness. I feel handicapped.
Film is delayed gratification. I remember the day when people had to wait an entire week to get photos back from the drugstore. I also remember taking film to quality developing studios where each photo was hand developed. In today's world, development only takes an hour and even that seems long.
We just returned from an important weekend at West Point. With twenty four pictures on a roll, I took four rolls of film for a total of ninety six photos. Once upon a time, that was considered good documentation. In comparison, a digital photographer would have returned with five hundred pics. Knowing about the luck-factor in photography, the odds are against the film guys.
And another thing: Whenever I say to a random person, "Would you please take our picture?" (and this is done only in the "big" moments), the photo always returns to me with something chopped off or, even with an auto-focus lens, blurry. It's simply a fact on which I can always count.

Always the Photographer

Now I am brought to the present point regarding Plebe Parent Weekend and its photos which returned from Target (and, yes I did wait an entire day for them). Out of the four rolls, there were some keepers. For that I am thankful because I know that is not always the case because there are no re-do's with film. Here's the point: Where am I? Me. The mom part of "parent". Always the photographer, never in the picture. Turns out in the one photo I allowed myself to enter, the ole chopping block syndrome came to visit.

Pictures That Last Forever

When Stuart was small I caught him doing a very strange thing one day. He would put his index finger under his eye and jerk it up and down once at a time very quickly. And, then, he would turn his head slightly and repeat the motion.
"Stuart, what are you doing?" I asked him after observing this several times.
"I'm taking pictures with my mind," was his reply. And he switched to the other eye like it was the most normal thing a kid could do.
"Why did you do that?" I inquired again.
"I ran out of film," he answered with the confidence of a professional photographer.
I believed him then...and I still do. The photographs taken by our minds are superior to both film AND digital.
Guess what? I'm in every one of those pics.

Does anyone else have this problem of never being in the photo?

The Three-Cornered Hat Principle

Clayton was barely six, Stuart was four, and Davis was not quite two when we took a family trip to Williamsburg, Virginia... love the history... top places ever... spent two days of our honeymoon there. Anyway, so we were on this family vacation taking in the history and having a great time walking until our feet hurt. We still had a stroller, and everyone wanted to get in...even me.
As in any tourist destination, there are always "things" that the tourist simply must have. On this particular trip, the "must-have" was the three-cornered hat. Every kid had one! I wanted mine to have one , too.
"It would make the pictures so much cuter," I whined, trying to persuade Jeff to buy one...errr, make that three. Let's just say the ole three-cornered hats times three were going to set us back quite a bit more than had been expected and, so, they did not come to be.
Still,the more we did not have the hats and the more people we saw with the hats, the greater the desire for the hats became. We went about our day. We took tons of pictures. We had lots of fun, but not having the three-cornered hats continued to rear its ugly head.

At the Beach

Fast forward several days to where we were back at our beach house taking in the surf, sand, and shell collecting.
Jeff observed, "You know, the three-cornered hats would really look silly about now." And we laughed at the silliness of how important they had seemed in the "Williamsburg moment".

Plebe Parent Weekend

Fast forward fourteen years into the future. Clayton is only weeks away from being twenty. We are at West Point for Plebe Parent Weekend (PPW).The "must-have" of this trip... the official standard-issue wool parka with the "USMA 12" patch sewn over the heart. It's a parka made by the West Point uniform factory and only Cadets, Old Grads, and parents are allowed to have them. So exclusive.
Jeff had planned in advance to purchase the parka ("Parka" is just not a term we would use in the South. Is it Yankee-ease or traditional WP-ease? I don't know. "Parkas" to a Southern mind are worn only by Eskimos in Alaska, but this one is navy blue thick wool with a zip- down- the- middle hood.), thus, he had not packed a coat knowing that his new official West Point parka would keep him warm. And it was a very cold day to our thin Southern blood.
I simply could not justify the $90.00 X 2, so I unselfishly allowed Jeff to make the parka purchase.

Everyone Had One

However,I still wanted one...REAL badly. When they were stitching on the "USMA 12" patch, I almost caved to the desire. But, I wisely revisited the "Three-Cornered Hat Principle". I pictured both Kinley parents showing up at high school football games both wearing the USMA 12 parkas and I knew it would be like being on the beach with the three-cornered hat and a bathing suit.
On the other hand, I knew if I couldn't wear a USMA 12 parka to an Army football game, then I should probably stay at home. "How many Army football games will you be attending?" I asked myself. (Maybe one...if I am fortunate.)
Many comments throughout the weekend were made by husband as to how warm and toasty he was because of his magical, new parka. Every parent had one...many husbands and wives. They were all I could see.
I held firm.

Parkas Continued to Look Cool at the Airport

At the airport, they still looked awesome as the parkas would distinguish the WP parents from the crowd.
Today, it was 68 degrees in Little Rock. For now, anyway, the parka's magic is fading. But, it looks great in the pictures....

A "Constant"

Like most residents of Hillcrest, Saturday is another word for "Project Day". I love warm Saturdays when, with windows and doors open, the sounds of hammers and saws can be heard all about my neighborhood.My husband would say that his weekly trip to Kraftco would top his list of Saturday favorites.

Things that Don't Change

Few places are "constants". Kraftco is. There used to be others like the Heights IGA Grocery, but the stuffed monkey that for 40 years sat atop the produce section's banana "tree" was lamely replaced by a Curious George, not the same, so I crossed that place off my list.
But...Kraftco...where the linoleum tiled floors have worn paths down each aisle, and the smell of old-hardware store fills the air. Screws, nails, garden supplies, paint, and hardware of all types pack the aisles from floor to ceiling. Where, upon entering, each customer is led precisely to the exact item needed. Whether it's one screw or a chainsaw, the Kraftco men treat everyone with same amount of care and attention. Wow.
From killing ants to replacing a garbage disposal to patching a roof, the Kraftco sages have guided us through many home repair projects.

Seasonal Fun

A hint of snow in the forecast and out come the wooden "Flyer" sleds. In the summer there are wooden ice cream makers, even the ones with cranks for nostalgic souls.(Personally, I'm not that old or patient for one of those things!)

The Kraftco Sages Know All

My husband enters Kraftco's doors with, "I live in an old house in Hillcrest." Immediately the hardware heroes are smiling, nodding, and tracking with him. I enter with hand gestures similar to charades, and my message is always deciphered.

One Saturday, and I do mean one, my husband returned from his weekly Kraftco run emptyhanded.

"Kraftco didn't have it," he reported with a blank look in his eyes.

"Didn't...have it?" I repeated not believing my own words.

And we stared at one another in silence.

Ballroom Dancing Lessons

Introductory Special Package: Three 30 minute private lessons, two group lessons, one party lesson...all for $25.00. I was sold! Surprisingly, Jeff was easily persuaded to join me for ballroom dancing lessons.

Married to a Non-Dancer

Being married 25 plus years to a non-dancer will oxidize the dancing shoes. Mine were definitely crusty and full of holes. I had closed the ballroom door years ago, but, now, peeking inside made me regret I had done so.

"Clayton, we're taking ballroom dancing lessons," I announced to my W.P. Cadet, "so we can dance at Plebe Parent Weekend!"

"Are you still married to Dad?" asked the now laughing son who knows his father well.

Lesson One:

We were greeted by our instructor, Monika from Germany. Her accent was the female version of Arnold Swartzaneger's. My pop-cultured husband clued into that connection immediately and had to continually bite his lip while the "step, slide, togezah...step, slide, togezah" waltz steps were counted by the Terminator-ess. She was very pleasant, and I thought we progressed well.

Lesson Two:

We didn't actually have time to practice, but remembered well the steps from the week prior. Monika added a twirl, and we were beginning to move forward. We weren't bound for "Dancing with the Stars" but were hopeful we would soon be able to manage the Plebe Parent Weekend Ball. Sadly, between Lesson Two and Three, we experienced a set-back as we attempted a waltz demo before friends and choked. Oops.

Lesson Three:

Despite Monika's strong encouragement to get us to the Group Lesson, our busy schedule kept us away. And thoughts of the Party Lesson, where experienced and beginners mingle, made my palms sweat.

The Bombshell

"So, Monika, if we want to continue with our lessons," I innocently asked at Lesson Three's conclusion," how much might we expect to pay?"

Monika pulled out the binder containing our file with the notes re: our progression (or..."OMG, this couple is hopelessly left-footed, this could take years") and began to share her ten lesson plan. The plan included some type of discount which I did not understand because I was intent on the bottom line of...$1700....

"Make your face show no surprise," I sternly warned myself, "Holy poop, that's like a school tuition payment!"

"We certainly have enjoyed these lessons," I politely responded, "And will get back with you after discussing this plan."

Thankful for Caller ID

I had to ignore Monika's calls for at least a week. I know we would have been proficient following the $1700 investment, but I had really just hoped for the Help-We-Have-A-Wedding-Coming-Soon plan with a price to match.

Besides, my pop-cultured husband had endured all the "step,slide,togezah" he was able.

Sorry, Monika from Germany, ballroom dancing as our new hobby was not to be.

The Wrestle Room

With children comes stuff. Their toys seem to procreate nightly. The first midnight brontosaurus into the foot is a true wake- up call. Preparing meals with building blocks and action figures sprinkled about the kitchen floor can ignite claustrophobic panic.

Maxed Out

Two boys quickly maxed out our small vintage '36 bungalow. With news of number three's arrival, an immediate space search began.
"If I could only have a room for toys and playing," I wished, "I would be content."
We searched diligently for 8 months. It was a tight housing market, and nothing seemed to meet out criteria.
"God, please give us a new house before the baby chums," was our two year old's nightly prayer.
But, the baby was chummin with no new house in sight. One sleepless night I made a quick decision to buy the house offered by friends also desiring a space move. The following afternoon, we had a contract.

August Moving Day

Interesting moving day...also number three's due date.
August in Arkansas and a sweltering 100 degrees. Kind people pitched in, and I carried my own load...even lifted the forbidden heavy objects when no one was looking. A long day finally ended with everything under the new roof.
"Whew," I remember sitting in our vacant bungalow directing the final clean-up and small repairs, for I knew...the baby...was...chummin.
Labor. Delivery. It's a boy! Air conditioning condenser in new house breaks. Did I mention August in Arkansas? Finally settled. Our family was complete. Special times began on White Oak Lane.

White Oak Lane Days

A room for toys and playing had been a priority and thankfulness abounded for the granted request. However, that room, never to be called "The Playroom", was swiftly dubbed "The Wrestle Room." Being the only carpeted room in the house, and furniture-less, it perfectly matched its nickname. The floor was cushy, and it had plenty of space for rowdy rumbles with Dad. The White Oak Lane Kinleystead eagerly anticipated its nightly "Wrestle Time!"
An out-of-town job caused White Oak Lane to last only two short years. But the impact of The Wrestle Room echoes to today.

Tea Party for Pirates

Flea markets and old books are my favorite combination. One Saturday morning, happy and nicely dressed children politely pouring tea for one another smiled at me. An idea was hatched, and I rang the bell for Mom's Etiquette Class to commence.

Marketer Mom

As a good marketer, I began by creating a "need" in my target market's eyes.

"Boys, in the future, you may find yourself dining at an expensive restaurant with your boss," I ominously warned,"And there will be lots of forks and various silverware. You'll be glad, in that moment, your mother had the foresight to teach you what to do."

"I don't ever want to look like the geeks in that book," replied my oldest son.

"Yeah...geeks," parroted the youngest.

"Besides," the middle son added,"We're going to be pirates, and pirates don't have bosses."

Touche to Mom

All three smiled back smugly, quite pleased with the logic they thought had certainly derailed the entire Etiquette Class proposition.

Let the Lessons Begin

Knowing well there is not a grade school boy anywhere who appreciates the value of proper manners, despite their initial protests, and in the face of continual objections, brief readings from the little blue book soon began.

Senior Skip Day

Life fades. The normal course is not to have things ripped away. Trauma comes in ripping, but the fading leaves quietly without notice. In peaceful moments, I often mark time with the thought: This is life... my life.

True and not true. It is, and it isn't.

For, Experience reminds me that I can no more hold onto the present than I can grasp falling water. Passing over fingertips, effects are felt, but don't remain. Every present is a part, a series of weavings that one day will form a whole, will one day reveal a story completed. Only then will I say with certainty: This is my life.

Today is 'Senior Skip Day'

So... today is Senior Skip Day. Translation: Mom of Senior has to Drive Carpool Day. It's on a morning like this I am taken back to passing water.

Mom Back in the Carpool Saddle

Turning the Expedition into the school driveway, I nostalgically observed a steady stream of parents filtering into grade and middle school lots. Whistle-blowing, hand-waving traffic directors braving the cold temperatures with mittens and earmuffs. Dads on cell phones scheduling daily appointments. Moms with no-so nicely coiffed hair, toddlers in tow. Moms with business suits, sipping the a.m. brew. Slightly older moms heading kidless toward the morning work-out.

Experiences Fade

A beehive of activity in which this Mom of Senior- who- normally -drives- carpool no longer daily partakes. I looooove having a son who drives...yet, this morning, I remembered how the water once felt, and I experienced a fading.

Fabric Fades

The fabric on my favorite windowseat daybed gets all the morning sun. Mac the Labradoodle knows how fabulous a nap can be on this spot! I know one day the sun will steal away all color. Fading.

Daily Rituals Fade

Nightly bedtime gatherings at the Kinleystead were ritualistic in the early years. Stories, prayers, giggles, and poking standard fare. Clayton always asked for a "hug and pat-pat". Davis was the one needing more water. Stuart dutifully remained in bed. Fading.

The 'Lasts' Fade

Yesterday Davis, while at a friend's house, had left on two lights with dirty clothes covering his floor. I walked into his room and wondered," When will I... turn this light off for the last time? When will I... pick-up the last dirty sock?" This, too, will fade.

My Stuart is a Senior

My skipping senior just entered the front door from spending the night out, made a mid-morning lunch, and headed up to his room to eat and play a video game. I can see the fading and know its quiet. I just closed my eyes, felt the water, and wondered how I could be the mom of another senior boy.

"Hop on up, Mac" I said, motioning for my fuzzy friend to claim her place on the sunny daybed.

"Enjoy the moment...this will also...fade.

Over Stuffed

I am officially "over stuffed". Having collected all things interesting from my early youth, I'm done. There is no more wall space, floor space, closet, attic or basement space. Nada. I wish I could scrap it all and start afresh, but I can't do that because of sentimental attachments.

Aaaahhh...what a dilemma! What does a collector do when she can collect no more?

Sold the Osmonds on Ebay

I just went through a spurt of cleaning which was way overdue. I finally rid myself of high school and college clothes. I donated my entire Osmond Brothers record collection to the local thrift shop and have sold my childhood on EBay. I feel cleansed...sorta...but I miss it.

Saving Stuff

At first I saved stuff for myself. Next I saved it for my future kids. Then, my future kids became present and had the audacity to say they didn't want my stuff.

"What?," I replied with great surprise, "It's great stuff!"

I Am the Family 'Dumping Ground'

I finally came to the conclusion that I had been for many years the family dumping ground for everyone's life. They were free, but I was not. I was held captive by the family historian and curator role. I had hoped for a son, niece, or nephew to carry the family mantle of saving...but no one seems to want it.

I Am Dead...Who Wants It?

So, I faced reality, determined I would not go to the place of saving for potential grandchildren (well...just a few choice things) and arduously made my way into the attic. I pretended to be dead and asked myself, "If I am my children, would I want this?" It was a difficult task, but I did it. I threw away, Ebayed, and donated.

Can I Die Twice?

Truth is, I need to "die" a couple more times.

I'm on a Mission

This year is the year I decide what's worth saving, what needs to be trashed. I'm making my way through the trunks, and I'll probably be writing about what I find along the way.

Twenty Four Hours

Does everyone really get the same amount of time each day...the same twenty four hours? When I get to the end of each day, I am always disappointed at how little I seemed to have accomplished. I observe people whom I admire and, many times, they seem to possess the ability to get more done.

Gets My Goat

The type of person who really "gets my goat" ("gets my goat"...from where did that come and what does it mean? Or, better yet, why did I use it?).
The internet is great...just looked up that "gets my goat" expression and am now glad I used the expression all the more. Seems that race horses got anxious before races, so, to calm them down, the horse owners placed goats in front of each horse. Whatever works, I suppose. Anyway, in order to affect the race's outcome, goats were stolen and horse owners were angered.
I am that race horse... anxious to make it out of the gate... overly competitive... easily excited and wild. I want to go places, and I want to get there with great speed. Anything or one who gets in my way, including goat thieves, frustrate me. So, yeah, the type of person who really gets my goat is the one who seems to complete the list of tasks plus all the relational stuff and solitude.

My Overactive Imagination

Maybe I just read too many magazines. My ultimate phantom person is the woman living the artist's lifestyle... on a farm outside a major city with her husband, children, and photogenic dog. She has the time to cultivate an herb garden, gather fresh eggs from her prized chickens,and prune antique roses which don't seem to have those black spot things all over them like mine do. She's not Martha Stewart (I'm not into her). She's more like Tasha Tudor the artist of my childhood book which I loved so much and which Mac ate one day for no reason.

Read About This Artist

Recently, I was reading about one such artist whose work I enjoy. Oh, and, their husbands always quit their jobs and get on board. Maybe, he's the one getting the eggs, pruning ,and such.

(Pause for laughter as I close my eyes and think about my husband...no...that's not a good thought...more like a nightmare...he can't even keep the dogs for a weekend without me. The thought of him chasing down chickens and putting them in coops along with bloodied hands from roses popped into my head).

Buying Trips to France

Anyway, this artist seemed to have it all. They always live outside of New York so they can drop by their flagship retail shop in SoHo at will. And they always go frequently to the French countryside for flea market excursions.

In Her Cute Chicken Coop Studio

Yet, there she is...drinking coffee and sketching in her old- chicken- coop- turned- studio, dog at her feet. Who's minding the cute kids? And who cooked that really good dinner on the following page?

Let's Get 'Real'

Do we all really get the same twenty four hours each day? I'm just wondering about this as I drink coffee with my really cute dog napping beside me, gazing out the back window of my 1920's Tudor-style house toward a huge rubbish pile from the basement cleaning and the 3/4 complete fire pit project that needs landscaping in order to be complete while contemplating my art table covered with dust.