Runners to Your Marks

I do not do transitions well. A day like this last day of 2011 finds me melancholy.

Looking ahead to the horizon I see nothing but changes in this unknown 2012.

There will be goals achieved. There will be celebrations of huge importance.

Our oldest son will toss his hat into the air with a meaning which only a West Point cadet can understand



and have bird seed tossed at him with a zeal which only wedding guests can perform.

My youngest son will finish high school and begin college. I will finish 23 years of parenting. I will begin the days when Hillcrest Cottage's walls will quietly whisper the stories of boyhood sword fights, marathon video game parties, late night kitchen raids, and the loud laughter of family gatherings.

Yes, the walls will talk. They will talk a lot.

They will speak of the love we do here, of forgiveness, of grace, of a thousand 'I love you' moments, of acceptance and belonging. The yucky stuff, sifted through grace, will be trampled underfoot and swept aside as rubbish. The good stuff will rise as a sweet aroma full of goodness,

like the smell of bacon on a snowy morning.

In this new 2012, I will write about transitions... a lot. I will talk about finishing... a lot.

If you care to join my 2012 roller coaster ride, you may understand what it means to accomplish a worthy goal. I imagine the lows will be very low and the highs will be very high.

And... as life goes... I am certain there will be a sprinkling of unexpected sorrows and joys.

My motto for 2012 of "Finish Strong" finds its roots in Hebrews 12;1,2:

Let us run with endurance the race that is set before us, fixing our eyes on Jesus.

Runners to your mark... get set... GO.

The Lettered Cottage is hosting a "Word for the Year" link party. She is encouraging us to periodically post blogs relating to our chosen word.

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?

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'?

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.