Several weeks ago Coulter and I were making our way down the back steps that lead into our church. I like to go the back way because I can sneak Coulter into Sunday School without actually checking in. It’s not that I mind checking him in, it’s that I always forget my little card that they swipe and I don’t like having to admit that, once again, I have no card. I know it’s wrong, but I basically live under the assumption that there are certain rules that simply don’t apply to me and this is one of those rules. I also like going the back way because Coulter thinks it’s our super secret shortcut and for those few minutes on Sunday morning I feel like a really cool Mom for having figured out such a top-secret entrance!
On this particular Sunday, though, we were racing down the stairs when Coulter stopped with a jerk and said, “Mom! Look! It’s a robin’s egg.” I looked down and there lay a cracked (almost crushed) blue robin’s egg and my heart sank. “Oh Coulter, how sad.” “Ma-aaahmm,” Coulter replied with a voice oozing frustration, “It’s not sad. The baby bird cracked out and flew away. That’s what they’re supposed to do” Well, duh! Of course that’s what happened. Or at least that’s a much nicer ending to the story! When had I become such a realist? And what is a realist, anyway? It’s just a nice word for pessimist.
Baby bird, aside, I’ve always been an optimistic person and I come by it quite naturally. My parents were always glass half-full people. Come to think of it, they are more like glass totally full. Someone has cancer? It’s the “good” kind. I mean if you’re going to have cancer this is the kind you want. Someone lost their job? It’s a victory; now they can go out and have the job they really want. Someone gets busted for drugs? Praise the Lord, now maybe he will have a chance to turn his life around. This is the kind of optimism that I grew up with; an optimism grounded in faith and Biblical truths.
Once upon a time I’m sure that I, too, would have seen a baby bird flying around. Where was my child-like faith and heart bursting with optimism? My new pessimistic outlook came back to haunt me again last weekend at the starting line of a 10 mile run. At the time I signed up it seemed like a great idea. On the morning of the run, however, it seemed like a hazy drug-induced idea. What was I thinking? I hadn’t run more than 5 or 6 miles for the past 3 years and now all of a sudden I think I’m going to pull a 10? To further shake my confidence, there was a spandex-clad, perfectly fit woman next to me (seriously, how can anyone be that tan the 1st weekend in June. This is South Dakota!) Anyway, she mentioned that there were only 55 people signed up to run. Math might not be a strong area for me, but it doesn’t take a genius to figure out those are some pretty high odds for coming in last. Usually there are hundreds and thousands of runners at these races and I enjoy the anonymity of it all. Well, not today. Today I knew several people; people from work, people from church; fast people, fit people, tan and beautiful people and I all I could think about was coming in last.
I was so consumed with coming in last that at mile 3 ½ I began to count the runners on their way back. 30, 32, 45…. Yep, I’m gonna be last. Now, in my heart, I know it doesn’t matter whether I came in first or last. All that matters is that I’m a 37 year-old mother of 2 and I’m out there running 10 miles. I know this and yet what really bothers me isn’t coming in last (although just for the record I was 41st out of what ended up being 49 finishers, thank you very much.) What bothers me is the fact that I totally believed I would be last. That’s realism; that’s pessimism. Not to over-do the story book theme, but once upon a time I would have insanely believed that I could have come in first and if I hadn’t I would have believed that the other 40 runners must have just had their best day ever! And if my Dad happened to be at the race, he would have convinced me that the race was in some way rigged. I mean that’s the only way his daughter isn’t going to win the race. And you know what, I would have believed him. And you know what else? I miss that spirit of optimism. I know, though, that I can catch it again. Beyond blessed are those moment watching Coulter and Emma Claire with their trusting spirits and child-like faith (the kind of faith that we are all called to have,) and I never again want to squish a baby bird’s life out of my son’s imagination.
Last summer I judged the Miss Arkansas Pageant, a pre-lim to Miss America and one of the young ladies in her interview made a comment that really stuck with me. She said, “Ma’am, I don’t care if my glass is half empty or half full. I’m just so happy to have a glass.” Sure, some days my glass seems more full than others, like the days that I remember ALL of Emma Claire’s clothes and the days where I believe I can run to the moon and back, but even for those less-than-full days, (like when some 20 year-old on her way to Miss America calls you "Ma'am") I am overflowing with gratitude and am just so happy to have a glass! Cheers!
Saturday, June 12, 2010
Saturday, June 5, 2010
Time to Brush Your Teeth!
What an exciting week this has been! After basically non-stop birthday celebrations for the past 2 weeks, Coulter started his very first week at big-boy day camp. He’s out the door by 7:30, backpack in hand wearing whatever “cool” shirt is deemed necessary for the day and his KEENS which, according to him, are water-proof, creek-proof and swamp-proof. This was very important to him, you know, because we spend so much time in swamps! So important, in fact, that he asked the salesperson to verify all the different levels of “proofs!” As a camper, he’s gone from 4 year old preschooler to 10 year old Kindergartner in a matter of a few short days. In a way, this new morning routine feels a little like Kindergarten dress rehearsal. To be sure, our lazy mornings at home are coming to an end. So far, everything is going well except for the occasional drama over clothing and for the almost impossible task of remembering to brush our teeth.
This is a really hard thing for me to understand because the first thing I do in the morning is brush my teeth. Well, it’s the first thing I do after realizing that pleading, “Please go back to sleep. It’s still night-night time!” isn’t going to work. It didn’t work yesterday. It didn’t work today and it’s not going to work tomorrow. I’m guessing that most of you wait until after you’ve had breakfast to brush your teeth but I recently read that bacteria starts growing right….oh, never mind. You do it your way and I’ll do it mine.
Now, not to totally change the subject, but brushing my teeth, in a very weird way, actually reminds me of 9/11. As the events were unfolding that morning, we decided it was best for the children and their families to stick with the routine of classes. We were just about to sing hello when my friend Nancy came in with her son, Cole. Horrified by the morning’s tragedies and shell-shocked like the rest of us, she announced to everyone that she had forgotten to brush her teeth. Here we are on this day of horror; this day of unspeakable tragedy and fear and all I can think about is, “Oh My Gosh! How could someone forget to brush their teeth?” So now, when people talk about where they were or what they were doing on that horrific day, I remember simply that my brother was in NYC and we hadn’t heard from him, and I remember that Cole’s mother forgot to brush her teeth.
O.K., sorry for the little diversion; now back to Coulter. Even though he’s acting 10, he is in fact 5 and we think that he’s old enough to take on more responsibilities in the morning. This has been met with mixed results:
“Coulter! Time to brush your teeth, please.”
“O.K., Mom”
No water and no brushing. Hmmmm….. I go to his room to check on him and I find him going through his underwear tub (we have tubs, not drawers; don’t’ ask!) contemplating the differences between boxers and tighty-whiteys.
“Coulter, honey, sweet pie, have you brushed your teeth yet?”
“Oh, man, I forgot. Right on it!”
He makes his way to the bathroom. Still no water; no brushing. I don’t want to be a helicopter mom, but teeth are kind of important so I check again. This time, I find him sitting on the counter with all of his toothbrushes and every tub of paste lined up and engaged in some kind of intergalactic shoot out with space aliens.
By now I’m starting to become a little dis-regulated (which is just my fun therapy word for totally freaking out!”) “Coulter, PLEASE brush your teeth! NOW!” To which he replies, “Oh sure thing, Mom, I just forgot.”
As a mom, I don’t understand how this can be so hard and to be honest, it scares me a little to think about leaving the house every morning at 7:30. We seriously aren’t going to have time for world issues like, “Are these real boxers?” And will Colgate Watermelon be able to save planet Earth.
Now, sorry for yet another diversion in our story, but last week I was out for a run and I was thinking about Coulter’s teeth and sun block and Kindergarten and basically any issue that I fear falling short and I noticed a couple up ahead of me, probably in their mid-50’s, pushing a baby stroller. Could be parents in today’s world, I thought, or maybe grandparents. No way to be sure. Then I saw the woman lovingly reach into the stroller and pull out her baby. Only, it wasn’t a baby; it was a dog. Now this is probably completely normal. People probably walk their dogs in baby strollers all the time and I’m just completely out of the loop but I was seriously taken aback and it actually sent me down a whole other train of thought about a Dateline episode that featured women, who, unable to have children, collected these very expensive dolls that looked completely life-like. They would dress them, feed them, change them and yes even stroll around town pretending that they were real. I became so distracted by the dog and the visions of baby dolls that I veered onto a different trail and somehow managed to get lost on a simple out and back run. All of a sudden I emerged from this tree lined trail to see a busy street and a huge CONOCO sign. It might as well have said, “Gotcha!” I felt in that moment that God served up a small dose of humility for dear ‘ol Mom. Because while I’d like to blame Coulter’s seemingly inability to walk the 10 steps from the breakfast table to the bathroom without becoming totally distracted by the imaginative world in his head on the “boys will be boys” theory, it is much more likely a case of “the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.” Humbling, indeed and yet I’m grateful for the reminder.
Humility has to be a part of parenting. Remembering, that while we are doing our best; while we are trying to be a reflection of God’s love to our children, we are not, or at least I’m not, anywhere close to perfect and we shouldn’t expect them to be either. Respecting our children and their imaginations, their creations, and their own unique timelines has to be part of the deal.
Sunday, we will have yet another birthday celebration for Coulter. None of the gifts that he receives, though, can compare with the gift of being his Mother and when I reflect on the blessing of his life I give thanks to God for the special knowledge He gives all parents….the knowledge and the absolute certainty that this child, your child on loan from God is by far the most intelligent, the most creative, the most talented and the most precious young boy to walk this earth (even if he does have smelly breath!)
This is a really hard thing for me to understand because the first thing I do in the morning is brush my teeth. Well, it’s the first thing I do after realizing that pleading, “Please go back to sleep. It’s still night-night time!” isn’t going to work. It didn’t work yesterday. It didn’t work today and it’s not going to work tomorrow. I’m guessing that most of you wait until after you’ve had breakfast to brush your teeth but I recently read that bacteria starts growing right….oh, never mind. You do it your way and I’ll do it mine.
Now, not to totally change the subject, but brushing my teeth, in a very weird way, actually reminds me of 9/11. As the events were unfolding that morning, we decided it was best for the children and their families to stick with the routine of classes. We were just about to sing hello when my friend Nancy came in with her son, Cole. Horrified by the morning’s tragedies and shell-shocked like the rest of us, she announced to everyone that she had forgotten to brush her teeth. Here we are on this day of horror; this day of unspeakable tragedy and fear and all I can think about is, “Oh My Gosh! How could someone forget to brush their teeth?” So now, when people talk about where they were or what they were doing on that horrific day, I remember simply that my brother was in NYC and we hadn’t heard from him, and I remember that Cole’s mother forgot to brush her teeth.
O.K., sorry for the little diversion; now back to Coulter. Even though he’s acting 10, he is in fact 5 and we think that he’s old enough to take on more responsibilities in the morning. This has been met with mixed results:
“Coulter! Time to brush your teeth, please.”
“O.K., Mom”
No water and no brushing. Hmmmm….. I go to his room to check on him and I find him going through his underwear tub (we have tubs, not drawers; don’t’ ask!) contemplating the differences between boxers and tighty-whiteys.
“Coulter, honey, sweet pie, have you brushed your teeth yet?”
“Oh, man, I forgot. Right on it!”
He makes his way to the bathroom. Still no water; no brushing. I don’t want to be a helicopter mom, but teeth are kind of important so I check again. This time, I find him sitting on the counter with all of his toothbrushes and every tub of paste lined up and engaged in some kind of intergalactic shoot out with space aliens.
By now I’m starting to become a little dis-regulated (which is just my fun therapy word for totally freaking out!”) “Coulter, PLEASE brush your teeth! NOW!” To which he replies, “Oh sure thing, Mom, I just forgot.”
As a mom, I don’t understand how this can be so hard and to be honest, it scares me a little to think about leaving the house every morning at 7:30. We seriously aren’t going to have time for world issues like, “Are these real boxers?” And will Colgate Watermelon be able to save planet Earth.
Now, sorry for yet another diversion in our story, but last week I was out for a run and I was thinking about Coulter’s teeth and sun block and Kindergarten and basically any issue that I fear falling short and I noticed a couple up ahead of me, probably in their mid-50’s, pushing a baby stroller. Could be parents in today’s world, I thought, or maybe grandparents. No way to be sure. Then I saw the woman lovingly reach into the stroller and pull out her baby. Only, it wasn’t a baby; it was a dog. Now this is probably completely normal. People probably walk their dogs in baby strollers all the time and I’m just completely out of the loop but I was seriously taken aback and it actually sent me down a whole other train of thought about a Dateline episode that featured women, who, unable to have children, collected these very expensive dolls that looked completely life-like. They would dress them, feed them, change them and yes even stroll around town pretending that they were real. I became so distracted by the dog and the visions of baby dolls that I veered onto a different trail and somehow managed to get lost on a simple out and back run. All of a sudden I emerged from this tree lined trail to see a busy street and a huge CONOCO sign. It might as well have said, “Gotcha!” I felt in that moment that God served up a small dose of humility for dear ‘ol Mom. Because while I’d like to blame Coulter’s seemingly inability to walk the 10 steps from the breakfast table to the bathroom without becoming totally distracted by the imaginative world in his head on the “boys will be boys” theory, it is much more likely a case of “the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.” Humbling, indeed and yet I’m grateful for the reminder.
Humility has to be a part of parenting. Remembering, that while we are doing our best; while we are trying to be a reflection of God’s love to our children, we are not, or at least I’m not, anywhere close to perfect and we shouldn’t expect them to be either. Respecting our children and their imaginations, their creations, and their own unique timelines has to be part of the deal.
Sunday, we will have yet another birthday celebration for Coulter. None of the gifts that he receives, though, can compare with the gift of being his Mother and when I reflect on the blessing of his life I give thanks to God for the special knowledge He gives all parents….the knowledge and the absolute certainty that this child, your child on loan from God is by far the most intelligent, the most creative, the most talented and the most precious young boy to walk this earth (even if he does have smelly breath!)
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