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.

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?

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?

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.