A Shoe Tragedy

A shoe tragedy occurred before school this morning. The "star" was my 14 year old Davis who is a passionate person. Since he fell in love with soccer last spring, he is also passionate about his shoes - Nike Vapors. He worked odd jobs for a month in order to buy them last fall. He claims they are the key to his game. He has been so faithful to take care of them, meticulously wiping them after each use. He talks about them, gazes at them with extreme fondness, and wears the soccer pack that came with them everywhere. He's a walking ad for Vapors. He makes them look so cool...even I might want a pair.
Last night was an extremely wet and muddy competition. My passionate Davis was, naturally, the muddiest of all the teammates. His formerly white jersey was black after performing moves that looked like he was playing on a "Slip 'n Slide". After the game, in an effort to once again be a good steward of these "magical" shoes, he cleaned off the mud and, then, set them by the heat's floor vent in order that they might dry and not become mildewed.
Enter tragedy. This morning, he found that the heat had melted the shoe's heals and insoles. They were totally ruined. And he left for school heartbroken and in tears. The last big game is two days away. Two of the star players will not be there. Davis was hoping to step in and save the team...but,now, he is Vapor-less.

Milestones

My high school junior year was the first "Greatest Year of My Life". I say "first" because I've had many other "Greatest Years of My Life" since. When the year ended the sadness was doubled by having to say good bye to my buddy Ernie who was leaving for college. I don't know if I had ever cried as hard as I did that night before he left. Ending a great year and a close friendship was a milestone.
Next came my own high school graduation and my very tight group of girl friends, mostly in clumps of 4's and 5's, chose different colleges. We gave gifts to one another and stayed up all night making our final high school memories. We took photos and hugged and cried and laughed until the sun came up. A milestone.
My college best friend got into her packed-to-the-max Toyota, and I watched her car turn into the distance away from four incredible college years. I knew we would always be friends, so I didn't cry. Another milestone.
At this point life began to speed up. Marriage, my first job, our first house. Milestone. Milestone. Milestone.
Suddenly, it was time for kids. No doubt that I wanted children but found it difficult to step into the parental arena. I had not taken much notice of babies and such. People snickered at the thought of my even holding an infant. We had been married 5 years when my husband declared we were at our Children Milepost. Two years later I saw Clayton face-to-face. A milestone.
He was the perfect baby. Thoughts that he might be the second sinless child fluttered through my mind. No child had ever been so special. When he turned two, I took him to the doctor thinking he was sick. My doctor's diagnosis: "Clayton is two." Okay. Only Jesus was sinless. Still...I knew he was very special and was destined for greatness. His first five years his nickname was "Special Boy".
Zoom. Zoom. Zoom. Life's inertia pulled me onto the fastest motorway imaginable. I sped past so many mileposts that if I hadn't kept focused I would have missed many. Kindergarten, reading, hitting a baseball across the yard, multiplication tables,my realizing he is his own person with his own will and desires (at that point I wondered if it was possible to not be a parent anymore), first middle school football game, voice changing, passing me in height, hunting with a real gun, drivers license, first date, turning 18 and deciding to take up pipe smoking ( it's all good, no weird tobacco and he has his dad's blessing), West Point acceptance letter, last high school football game.
Without notice all the "firsts" are becoming "lasts". I wish I could close my eyes and not read the inscriptions. But, I know this ,too, is a part of the adventure, and I haven't missed anything thus far, and I'm not planning to start now. Reading the milestones helps me appreciate the journey.

Check Out My New Ringtone

Washington called last night.
My United States Senator called my house to congratulate my son on his United States Military Academy appointment. It was the first official news we had heard regarding his "official" appointment, and it was way cool receiving the news in such a dramatic way.
Routinely checking the answering machine messages, I recognized the United States Senator's voice speaking in my hallway. The first response was joy. The second was... figures we would miss this call. But, after screaming for the whole family to come quickly and having time to process , I was thrilled to have the recording... which we immediately recorded digitally, which we made into a CD, of which we are considering making a ringtone, or perhaps, even broadcasting over a loud speaker from the roof of our historic 1920's Tudor house!
There is no way to take in the significance of the moment. West Point receives 10,000 applications per year, of those 4,000 get Congressional nominations... and only 1000 are accepted into each class. My son will be one of those elite one thousand. I just have to boast because I have never had anything so significant happen in my life ever.
We all have "mountain peak" moments. Setting the state high jump record in the 10th grade was probably my first. Getting married, moving into our first house, the births of 3 sons. This is one, and I have to admit, I've needed a moment like this. I simply feel happy for me and excited for Clayton to be meeting the goal he has had since 9th grade face-to-face... and I am very, very proud.

Bicycle Regret

Someone stole my bicycle, and that's really mean. It was a brand-new bike that was found at my favorite neighborhood shop called Hillcrest Junk Company. It still had the spikey- things coming out of the tires. I paid $30 for it and felt like God gave it to me as a special gift.
When spring comes I will be sad about my bike--again. I probably won't spend the money on another one. I only took the time to ride it twice.
I know it's not murder or having a gun put in my face or physical harm coming to me or something extremely traumatic. It was simply a bicycle. But it was my bicycle. And now I'm sad.
I wish now that I had put it on my car's bike rack, taken it down to the River Trail more often. There were some sunny afternoons when its shiny blue paint called out to me, but I did not listen.
No fond memories of time spent together, wind in my hair; I am left, instead, with incredible bicycle regret.

Motherhood 101

While waking my trying-to-be-college-bound senior this morning, a feeble voice pleaded,"Mom, I fell asleep writing my essay last night (the essay for an overdue college application), and I need for you to proof it. Can I please stay home and finish?"
"No!" I replied defiantly, "I have to be somewhere by 8:30 ,and your not going to school means I become the carpool driver which means I can't be where I need to be on time ! You cannot miss APChemistry which means you have to be at school by noon which means I'll have to be proofreader now which doubly makes me not be anywhere anytime this morning!" How dare my son mess with my busy schedule like this?
Flashback...18 years...I am able to hold this 5A -Conference- Championship -football -lineman -West Point -wannabe in my arms. It's a quiet morning in the perfectly- planned, meticulously -matching nursery, and I am changing the day's first diaper of my beautiful son, when, suddenly without warning ,comes projectile diarrhea all over his hand-sewn bumper pad... and beyond. How dare this baby mess with my pristine setting?
After months of waiting and organization, the very one for whom the room was prepared becomes the one who is extremely inconvenient!
Ring the bell: Motherhood 101 is in session.
I am now rounding the bend of this Mom-Race preparing to sprint the final 200 meters. Somehow, between carpooling and essay editing, I am able to pause for perspective.:
1.) Editing a college application essay is better than cleaning projectile diarrhea from the nursery.
2.) I haven't yet graduated from Mom class.
3.) He's still here.

Life is Crazy

Summer vacation is over, but it was 107 degrees today. Go figure. Soon, I'll be grabbing hot dogs at the football field and juggling homework and trying to keep the laundry clean for the next school day. Good news: I'll be entering a new phase of life not having to drive the carpool because Clayton can do it for me. It's wonderful and sad all at once. I won't miss the two hours daily spent in the car, but I will miss the conversations and the keeping in touch.
England was the highlight of my summer --especially taking Stuart and Clayton both. It was great to go to the beach and to be with friends, but most of the summer was just a blur.
Somehow I got involved in planning my 30 year high school reunion,which ate too much time but was fun and scary all wrapped up in one big package . I made a vow to run to Dillards for every skin care product available and also to become even more urgent in my life's mission because time is spinning by so fast, and it waits for no man.
Clayton will be a senior, and Stuart is right on his heels, and my cocker spaniel has cataracts, and I'm wondering if I will ever get to do everything that I wish I could. I want to take up cycling and go on one of those bike trips through France. I want to build a garden in front of my house that will make people stop just to smell my flowers and sometimes be caught taking pictures. I want to explore art and photography and take a watercolour class in the Cottswolds-- just because.
I don't know what it's like to own a cat, but sometimes I wonder if I would like to know firsthand. I wish my house was clean, but I don't want to get rid of my boys to find out what that's like. Mostly, I just hope that when I'm here this time next year that I will be able to look back knowing that I did "seize the day" because life is crazy, and that's really how I like it-- even though I dream of moving to a log cabin in the Ozarks where I could grow my own vegetables and raise chickens.

Coup D'Etat

There was a coup in my carpool this morning. Rebels threatened to overthrow the control of my Eddie Bauer Expedition. Historians will call it the "Eddie Bauer Rebellion".
Pulling into the school morning line, we knew instantly that we might be late. The traffic lady was blowing her whistle and waving her arms, just not at us. Lines of cars were moving, just not ours. And the car's digital clock ticked on. And Eddie Bauer's 6 teenage passengers became more agitated.
Having been late two a.m.'s previous and having been assigned tardy detentions, I admit I didn't blame them.
But the "unspeakable" was spoken.
"When she (the whistle-blowing director, not me the driver) isn't looking, " they whispered, "we could jump out and run through the middle school parking lot!" The plan was formed. Grabbing their athletic bags, backpacks, lunch sacks, and band instruments, they prepared for their escape.
"No!" I pleaded, "You can't do that! If everyone jumped out and a made a dash it would be mass chaos, danger, and confusion. But, worst of all, the director lady would blow her whistle at ME!" The shame. The social embarrassment.
"What are they going to do?" the main revolutionista sneered with eyes of steely determination scanning the perimeter, hand firmly gripping the door latch, "make YOU go to detention? I won't be late again." (Note to self: Pray harder for God to give this 17 year old his own car.)
Twelve eyes pierced through the back of my head. Air of tension. Clock is ticking. Who would reign supreme in this Eddie Bauer rebellion? Desperately, I searched my mom- files for a weapon that could end this coup.
Aha! It came. "If you pull the latch on that door and jump out of this car...." I had to utter a threat I never imagined I would ever hear myself speak. "...you will NOT go squirrel hunting this weekend." There I had said it.
Touche. End of revolt. I reign supreme. With a deathblow to their leader, the war had ended. And the would-be revolutionistas made it on time. A blood vow was taken to never be that late again. But, should there be a next-time, I don't know if I will be able to hold them back.
But, then again, there is always deer season....

The Season is Changing

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.

I Still Love Mail

Tangible mail. Paper mail. Mail you can hold in your hand. Mail you can stick in a desk drawer, store in the attic, or smell. Mail with real stamps.
I love to know my postman's name - mine is Calvin. And I still like the title "postman" rather than "mail carrier".
I anticipate that time in the day when my dogs announce the delivery, when I cease from activity, sit on the porch and sort through the mail.
It's mostly junk, but catalogs are worth a quick peruse before arriving at their final destination in the bathroom. Total trash: circular file. The rest is sorted by family names. My pile is stacked similarly to the way in which I eat - least desirable to best. A handwritten note on interesting stationery will always go straight to the bottom to be opened last like savoring a chocolate creme brule after a tasty meal.
It's not something about which we speak aloud, but there is a bit of competitiveness between my husband and I regarding mailtime. A twinge of disappointment comes if he gets to the mail first. I actually enjoy the total experience- squeaky metal mailbox lid, reaching down into the unknown retrieving whatever lies within.
Home after an out-of-town trip, mail opening comes before unpacking the car.
E-mail is great, and I use it. But nothing could ever replace a handwritten note. Pen and paper still best expresses heartfelt emotion, gratitude, appreciation, love, and friendship. There's a sense of permanence to it. Paper mail will never be replaced