The Bug House

Last night, laying in Evans bed as he settled in for the night, we were talking about his 'stink bug house'.  At school, on a daily basis- he cares for this little stinkbug out on the playground.  He builds houses out of mulch, twigs & leaves, brings it water in plastic caps, pets it, lets it crawl all over him.  His biggest problem is some of his friends will occasionaly smash the bug house.  So we (mostly Evan) came up with a way to keep 'Stinky' safer.  He's going to get a box, pretty good size, furnish it with doll house furniture, because "he needs a bed to sleep in Mama, and a table to sit at when he eats".  Decorate with pictures torn from magazines, have a hidey place made from mulch & leaves.  All the comforts of a buggy home.  Then we listed all the buggies that could come to visit, or even move in if it was OK with Stinky;  ladybug, walking stick, water beetle, caterpillars, roly poly's.  It was a great evening, and now he knows Stinky will be safe from the occasional friendly shelter smash.

I am so very grateful for my sons vision, compassion and imagination.  It keeps my heart light.

A Second...

I knew the weekend was going to be busy, I just didn’t know how many times I would be reminded of how fleeting everything can be. One little innocuous second can change everything.
The school book fair went as smoothly as we could have wished, I was busy painting faces, while Evan piled up every single book that had ever or will ever possibly in any way interest him. So we of course had the “you must choose” talk, along with the “you can’t have everything, and even if you could, where would you put it” conversation.

Sunday, we went to the Junior Elementary Social at one of the parents’ homes. They are so amazing this couple, so gracious, and generous. There is a pool, a tree house (or rather platform), a bounce house, a play set with a playhouse and innumerable things for kids to do.
Several of the men were holding court back near the bounce house, under a spreading Mango tree, apparently out of line of sight with the tree house.

I was watching the tree house from under the Chickee and saw Evan climbing the ladder, and the child on top of the platform hit him with, of all things, a plastic boat oar. Sigh. I start to get up, and see Evan backing down the ladder, so I relax, and turn to the conversation again, only for a moment. Next thing I know, Evan is running to me hysterical, that he had tried once more to get to the platform and the same child had hit him hard with the oar. One of the other dads, bless his heart, found out what the deal was, and confiscated said weapon. All I could think was I am so glad Evan didn’t fall. It’s a long way down. Men are still holding court, oblivious.

OK, Evan is fine, in the bounce house, I hear loudness, see way too many boys in the bounce house, junior testosterone is approaching dangerous levels, and I arrive just in time to see a child push Evan hard into yet a third. I called time out, got the more rambunctious ones out, whereby they headed for the pool. Sigh. Yep, Man Court is still is session, right next to the bounce house.

Evan and pals in the pool, Evan and one friend wrestling over the oar. Where did that damn thing come from again? Friend shoving Evan to the bottom of the pool using feet, hands, whatever. I see Evan start to -ever so slightly- panic, I reached in, grabbed the friend, Evan came up on the end of the oar, and explained that we do not drown our friends over a plastic oar. Man Court, I am relieved to see, is still intact. Yes that was sarcastic.

Standing near the pool now, watching like a hawk, I notice a child floating, sort of sideways, no motion that I can see, I take a step, and the next one will take me into the pool, when his mother, in her dress and shoes and all, goes flying into the pool, grabs him. He was just playing. He should be an actor. His mother is a hero in my book, when she realized he was fine, no yelling, no anger, just big hugs and lots of love. She’s an all time great mother, one of the very best. Save first -ask questions later. Man Court – is drifting towards the house, I guess they were bored.

There were more incidents, events and occurances, broken picture frame- casualty of a sword fight, skinned knees, heads butts, etc etc . Truly nothing unusual. I was exhausted, and frazzled a bit.

An hour or so later, on the way to a boy scout leader meeting , I came across an accident that had just happened, an overturned SUV, on a lonely road. Another car had stopped -a police officer and his wife it turned out. The officer was cradling the victim in the grass, by the cow fence, trying to limit his mobility and provide some encouragement. I asked the wife if she needed anything further, no, she said, calls had been made, services were on the way, and it looked bad, really bad. I got out of the way. I passed the ambulances, fire engines, 6 or 7 squad cars. The hair on my arms was standing up. The road was still closed off when I went to return home.

It only takes a second, one moment of inattentiveness, one small slip. We cannot possibly prevent all ‘those seconds’ from happening. Rather cherish every single second you do have, choose contentment over victimhood. Choose love over control.
I am so grateful for all the seconds I have had, with my family, mother, husband, son, brother. I am so very grateful that once in a while, I am reminded of how tenuous our existence is. It enables me to me grateful; it enables me to clear my heart for what is truly important.

A Note in Regard to the Presidents Speech to our Kids

The title to this entry is a link to the transcript of the prepared speech.

There is an amazing amount of rhetoric and vitriol being spewed by an awful lot of folks with some other agenda-in regard to the scheduled speech.

I am truly ashamed to live in an era where a president who takes the time to give a "pat on the back, you can do it" speech to our children is villified rather than celebrated. Considering all he has on his plate, I am amazed and gratified that he finds it of such grave importance and understands the weight the office will carry in speaking to our kids. I applaud his courage and conviction. I read the speech, I see nothing partisan, marxist, communist, racist or any other objectionable overtone in it. I see hope. I see pride. Thats what I want for my son.

Its been said that the speech was rewritten, so what if it was re-written? What speech isnt? So what that he says 'I' a lot-he's the president - if he isnt trying, who the heck is? If you did read it, you will have noticed he also cites parents, teachers, etc as trying to find resources, and gives credit for his success where it is due.

If my son watches this, and he will, he's going to come away more empowered knowing that the man in the white house actually gives some thought to what school children are facing. You people crying 'foul' need to get a grip. As parents, facing an increasingly lazy and self centered society full of 'gimmes', we need all the help we can get, all the reinforcement of a work ethic we can find. Who cares if the message comes from a democrat, a republican, or the Easter Bunny? Who cares if he's black, white, mocha or polka dotted? the point is not the messenger, it's the message. And it's a good one.

This man, our President, is telling our children that it means something to work hard, to believe, to try, even when it means failing, to keep trying, that if you want it enough and believe enough, you can make it happen.

What on earth is wrong with that? not a damn thing in my book.

Today I am grateful that a man like that takes the time to send such a positive message to my son.

Two Moments of Joy

I cannot think of better illustrations for joy.

My son's joy in the first picture, unmitigated, total joy in being six years old

Mine in the second, total, content, heartfilled joy at being Evans mama.

I am so grateful for my life, my joy.

Step Stools, Emergency Rooms and Nemo

This is Evan after a try at bouncing his head off the floor at Walgreens a week ago today. He got bored in the ER, and decided to try and draw with his feet...he did pretty well. The bump covered the right half of his forehead and was protruding about 3/8 of an inch and yucky spongy feeling. I have never been so scared for him. My mind goes crazy when stuff like this happens, all the 'what if's' doing an insane polka in my brain. What if...? What if.....? What if......?What if...? What if.....? What if......? creates an actual rhythm of panic-y images.

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To my credit, I managed to stay relatively calm (except when I thought things were taking too long in the ER, and yes I was mindful of other patients who were more in need) But man, that lioness mama part of me does kick in and kicks ass. LOL

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Nee Nee (my mom) was with him when it happened, she had picked him up early from school (camp) to go have ice cream and they were running errands after, fun grandma stuff. He apparently jumped up on one of those STUPID upside down garbage can looking step stools they leave around willy nilly. She told him not to do it again, turned around to get something off the shelf, and 'BOOM'. Possibly his selective 6 year old boy hearing had kicked in, and this time the thing went out from under him and he hit the deck, hard.

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Scared my mom to death, I felt so bad for her, she was so upset, it happened on her watch, and I know she feels responsible, but she's not-at all (are you listening Mom? XO). He's 6, he's a boy, he's going to get hurt, and badly sometimes. I always try to remember what Dorie said to Marlin in "Finding Nemo" when Marlin told her he didn't ever want anything to happen to Nemo- she said "but- if nothing ever happens to him, then nothing will ever happen to him......." words to live by, those are.

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But it's a week later, and I think I can safely put all the 'what if's' away, to come and dance a new polka in my head some other time....or not

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I am grateful for my mother, for all her love and support, her incredible capacity for love, and I am so immensely grateful that Evan is fine, that he is such a happy little boy, and that he loves his mama. Thats me!!

A little honest conversation with Spiderman

We took Evan to Universal Studios for his 6th birthday trip. What an amazing fun thing to do with a 6 year old, I tried my best to look at the trip through his eyes, to feel and get infected by his joy, his amazement, fear, and eagerness. We slogged through the rain, danced in the water attractions (fountains and such) doused each other with water cannons-A LOT- held each other tight on the scary rides, went through each and every gift shop looking for exactly the right thing (he even made choices not to spend his money, just in case something better was in the next shop!!).

I am marveling at just how cool it is to be 6, Spiderman, Wolverine, Captain America, and Dr Seuss, it's all good.

The best part of the trip for me was the night Evan & I went riding in the glass elevaor, 28 stories, facing the northern view of Orlando, we must have taken that thing 10 times, up, down, up, down, then went to the lower lobby, tied a towel around his neck and voila! batman was born, running though the halls on a desperate mission to save all the folks in the hotel from slimy sneaky bad guys.

Evan did get to meet Spiderman, and when spiderman asked who was his favorite superhero, Evan, in typical fashion said "Wolverine" The picture above is evidence of Spideys disappointment.

Today I am grateful for having the wherewithal to take him to such places, and for being enough of a child myself that I can see it though his eyes and be there with him

Mothers Day ("What not to Wear"- where are you?)

The picture is from Friday, May 8. There had been a Mothers Day tea at school, and I asked Nee Nee to take him for the balance of the day, I met them there after work, they had gone out to the pool, Evan made a great game of trying to pull me in the pool. I was winning....until I relaxed for an entire 2 seconds. splash. oh well, we ended up having great fun, while I tried to keep the skirt part of the little sundress from floating up around my waist (there was a character in the pool with goggles who kept trying to cop a free look at my unders, cretins abound)

So this same sweet boy, we are going to sleep last night (Mothers Day in the US) and he turns to me and says, "Mommy, you have the most beautiful heart, million bazillion, kanillion"

Me- Aww thank you my sweetheart, I love you too

Him- but your face isnt very beautiful

Me- Well, I'm glad you think my heart is.

him- why dont you wear make up Mommy, here, here and here (pointing to the various spots he thinks need camoflage)

Me- well, because makeup takes time, and in the morning I would rather spend that time with you

Him- how long?

Me- probably ten minutes

Him- Well I would be OK for that long if you wanted to wear makeup, because I know it would make you feel better (hard truth this child speaks)

Me- OK, then I'll do it tomorrow

Him- and Mommy? you need some girly shirts

Me- I dont like to shop baby,

Him- I will come with you and I will help you

Me- laughing- OK tootsie, that would be great. good night I love you forever.

Next morning-5:15 AM

We're waking up, he's having chocolate milk, I'm having vitamin water, and he turns to me and says - arent you supposed to be putting on make up?

me- OK, I'll go do that now

I go, apply goop, come back, he looks at me & says - you dont look any different.

I'm still laughing.

I am grateful for being whole enough inside my heart that this is funny, not hurtful. I am grateful thats he trusts me enough to be that honest. He does know the difference

Go Big or Go Home

My friend, Ginny Luther, is amazing. She has devoted herself to showing parents the way to discipline with love, understanding and respect. I, myself, don't think discipline is the right term, it's a form of loving guidance. Understand- it doesnt mean there are no consequences, there are. What she teaches us enables us to lovingly guide, grow with and absolutely delight in our children. She gives herself wholly, completely, and with out reservation to enable others to walk a peaceful path. I walk this path with my son, (yes I stray sometimes, we all do) He is 6. I can see the greatness in him, the heart, the empathy, the strength, already. All because Ginny taught me that what was in my heart made more sense than conventional wisdom.

She discovered these things while searching for a way to guide her young son, Bart. He grew into the kind of man you want your own son to be, a man of his word, a man of great strength and character, a man who knows love, a soldier who wanted nothing more than the world to know the freedom and joy that he lived. Who wanted nothing more than to come home and marry the love of his life.

A while back, Ginny thought she was home free, her son Bart had returned from deployment in Iraq. Phew. He was home, safe. She was to be one of the lucky ones. He was in Fort Hood Texas.

Then one day two uniformed men came to her door, ushering her into a hell like no other. The hell where your beautiful, true, love of your life little boy turned man-warrior has been taken from you, senselessly.

As I know the story, he was alerted that the MP's were going to the home of one of his men, cause? suspected stolen army property. Bart, as his mother does, took it upon himself to give this man, this human, a safe place, a safe path to reconsider his error. The man, the human, shot Bart. 5 times. In the head. Murdered Bart. And then killed himself.

Ginny is bringing herself out of this hell by doing something in typical loving Ginny fashion. She discovered in her rages against the pointless injustice of it, that of all the people and entities she was angry with, the killer wasnt one of them. Her husband pointed it out to her, that she never mentioned the killer as a target for blame. Ginny took this, pondered it, and discovered that she realized this man, this killer of her sweet son, didnt have the tools she teaches, he had no way to deal with the insane amounts of stress, anger and fear, that these people (who often are no more than children themselves) are living with. These soldiers, male and female, who put themselves out there at the request of the country, to fight, defend, and protect us. We are failing them. Go fight we say, and when they come home, we offer no support for the nightmare they most probably lived. The fighting changes people, in an extremely profound way. We can no longer pretend it doesn't.

Ginny is spearheading a movement called "Go Big or Go Home" words that her son Bart lived by. She wants to take what she knows (and its a lot) & teach military familes how to begin to deal with the myriad conflicting emotions, how to channel them, how to not get caught up in a cycle of hatred, paranoia and violence. She wants to prevent another mother, another family from a visit to that hell. And she can.

the title to this post is a link to her sons memorial site, go there, do it now. help her Go Big or Go Home

I am so grateful for all I have learned from Ginny, for trusting my heart, for my beautiful Son, and for the man he will grow to be, I know he will be as Bart was. and thats a lot to be grateful for.

Hippety Hoppety Easta Gansta

Is it even possible that the 'easta gansta' is the same excited child on the bunnys lap? or the one looking at his Uncle Dave with those huge I love you eyes? or tearing into the ice cream at the zoo? or showing his first lost tooth gap?

Ain't life wonderful?

Zen and the art of vacationing

This is Evan meditating on the steps outside the American Indian Musuem. Zen isnt it? ;-)

I took Evan to see my brother (aka Ultra cool Uncle David) in Virginia for a week. Brother took us into DC just about everyday, even going so far as to get up at 5Am one windy rainy cold morning, drive into DC, stand in a windy rainy cold line for 2 hrs to get tickets to take Evan (and me) to the top of the Washington monument, then he drives all the way back to Virginia to get us, and trains it all the way back with us to go to the top. It was amazing, unbelievable view, even through the rain.

We did the Smithsonian Museum of Natural History, the American Indian Museum, the American History Museum, The National Zoo, and Dave took Evan to the Spy museum, one day so that I could go to the National Gallery of Art. I cried standing in front of the Rodin, Rembrandt's and Degas. Absolutely speechless.

I brought supplies with me to get busy work done, wire, stones, etc....never even opened the case. I had grand ideas of making fabulous bracelets, earrings etc, while drinking tea late at night with Dave....ahh the best laid plans.......but the wine was great :-)

I did get back to work the last few days and am very happy with the outcome, will post pics of that in a few days.

I am so blessed, and grateful for my son, my mother, my brother, and of course, my husband. what a fortunate soul am I.