Mother's Day Weekend

A weekend of high emotion, indeed. 

May 11-13th brought a few tall orders: 

It would have been Parker's 12th birthday. Scott and his family joined Parker's friends for a mini-celebration in Bellbrook. Peyton stood in her Prom dress among dozens of 12-year-olds as they released colorful balloons to the sky in Parker's honor. This is her photo...it just brings tears to my eyes. 

What a great activity, completely created by this tight constellation of kids who are missing one bright star.  

And despite that grief, we still must celebrate what we've got here on earth. We had a dinner party at our house that night, celebrating 8 years of Amblen! 

The next day was Mother's Day...time to honor our three matriarchs. This photo is an old one, but a treasured one...it's from 2010, when the kids had placed tiaras on all the "queen mums." This year, we took each of them flowers and hugs. 

And lastly, some Mother's Day downtime with my own two sweet peas. Carson asked to be a baby again, and after I swaddled him and cried a little from the emotional weekend and realization that I DON"T have babies anymore, we all had a good laugh making silly faces at the camera.

 

 

On weekends like this, you either laugh or you cry. Both of these can be cleansing, but ending the day with a giggle was just what we all needed to remember the most important words to live by: 

Call your mother

Remember those you've lost, but live for those you have today

Be here now.

When the Storm Blew In

I drove home from work along the highway, watching a horrible set of ominous dark clouds follow me. A storm was brewing, and I knew the sky was about to break open. 

My trip was quick and I beat the rain—but the sky was a yellowish-green color, and the air was as still as those of us who listened closely for the rumble of thunder. I pulled in the garage and lugged my purse and laptop bag up the steps. 

A search of the house: no kids. 

Derek said that Ella had led a crying Carson to the front porch.

To me, this image represents something much more than inclement weather. Carson, there will be a time in your childhood or young adulthood when you two are at odds. 

Remember, my son, that when you got scared, your big sister held you.
She held you. And that was enough.

My past, on wheels

Growing up in Germantown in the late 80's was pretty idyllic, aside from an over-sized dose of small town gossip and lack of a decent community park.

Our little town of 5,000 celebrated the "diversity" of 15 or 20 very white, (yes, very German) last names. We had a whooping culture of hard-core football fans who hardly understood that there was a world beyond our big hair and friday night lights.

We were a microcosm, for sure. Relatively no commerce and a complete lack of fast food—aside from a very busy Dairy Queen—led us to the local swimming pool in the summer. In the winter, it was Romar skating rink. It was the only roller rink for miles around. It brought dozens of neighboring school kids into our tiny town.

Fast forward 25 years.

Ella brings home an announcement:

MEDLARVIEW ELEMENTARY SKATING PARTY!!!

Romar Skating Rink, Germantown Ohio

 

We made the 20-minute journey and found that the rink is still there, the freshly-painted black letters now crumbling from years of ice and rain. We stepped inside, and Ella ran to the skate rental booth. I stood there, silent, moving my phone in slow motion to snap this very familiar sight:

 

Ella, Carson and Derek laced up their skates. I followed them in my flip flops out to the rink, where they rolled in hardwood orbit to the latest Katy Perry tune. My mind conjured a different memory; instead, my ears heard the beat of  "She Dropped a Bomb On Me...Baby." It was a trip, to say the least.

I left the rink area and headed for the restroom, where I remember hiding out as a sixth grader. I remember cowering in a stall with a kleenex and my own hormonal misery, wiping away tears because my best friend called me a "snob." I had never felt so misunderstood.

 

As soon as I got to the door, my mouth flew open. The original sign...the original horrid hand towel dispenser, and even the toilet tissue were exactly the same as they'd been the last time I was there in as a kid in 1985. I stood there wondering who still manufactures rectangular folds of toilet paper. 

And just in case there were any question, the sign still hangs:

Ella had a blast and got a little more steady on her wheels. Carson showed his usual sense of absolutely NO fear. Derek got some exercise. And I found my own personal flux capacitor and joined Marty McFly in the time machine.

Celery Art!

It was a chilly Sunday afternoon and Derek was doing yard work. I was in the kitchen with the kids making vegetable soup, and went to toss what was left of the celery. 

I showed it to Ella and we didn't have to exchange a word. We both ran to the art room and opened up the paints!

By dinner time we had a freshly cut lawn, a warm pot of soup, two budding artists, and a new set of stationery. Perfect.

Spring Gym•nap•sticks

Neither of our kids can/could say this word before the age of 4, so their pronunciation is above. That little stuff is so important. It's kind of thing that I worry about forgetting someday when I'm old and grey, lying in bed with Readers Digest, my teeth in a jar on my night stand. Although I suppose if I can't find a better magazine and I can't really chew, remembering how the kids said "gymnastics" will not be my biggest challenge.

Anyway - I digress.

It has been made clear to us by Carson's teachers that he has "extremely advanced" upper body strength, and for that reason, there is no place he's more excited about than TWIGS gym-nap-sticks. This kid is doing chin-ups by the dozen on the bars, bouncing and flipping like he was born for it.

By George, i think we've found an outlet for this little monster's excess energy!

It Takes a Village

We often take for granted that which is closest to us.

I makes absolutely no sense to hand out all your energy to the strangers and acquaintances in your life, but I suppose it's human nature...you get comfortable with the people closest to your heart, and you assume they'll always be there.

In the case of your Mimi, your Grandma, and your Grandpa, they really HAVE always been here while Daddy and I were away at work. They've been here week after week, helping to feed you breakfast or pick you up from daycare, change your diapers and read you books, run to your soccer games and drive you to church. While all that seems rather hectic, there have been many an afternoon where they were at our house, simply holding you in the recliner or coloring yet another Disney Princess coloring book page.

Both of you are incredible little artists, largely due to your Grandma. Ella, your teachers have noted your exceptional skill in writing, which comes from your Mimi. And Carson, there is no doubt that your Grandpa will have you throwing a lightning-fast pitch before you're 10.

This kind of love and attention has helped form who you are. As parents, we are grateful for any help we can get, but what we don't bank on is that our kids are learning their value system from the people who are co-parenting with us.

That daycare provider, or first grade teacher, or family member who is so intimately involved? They act as maple trees, the little helicopter seedlings of their character landing softly and sprouting in the hearts and minds of our children. What a TRUE BLESSING  to know that your maple trees are those that raised your own parents with the same care and guidance.

So, my sweets: what you're learning from your Grandparents is faith, devotion and creative expression. How do I know you're picking it up? Because I see it on display as you giggle and clap at the library and the theater...

And as you proudly stand on stage and sing about God, faith and love.

I'm proud of you, Ella, and I'll be proud of Carson when he gets old enough to join you. My childhood is filled with memories just like these, and that set the moral guard rails for how I live my life and how I express myself.

That doesn't mean I am perfect, or that you have to be...but that little voice inside all of us that lets us know when something doesn't feel right? Well, that's God. All you have to do is listen.

Creative expression? Just keep writing, keep dancing, keep drawing, keep singing and keep loving. If it's from your heart, it will reach someone and open their heart, too.

And you are closer to all this understanding because of your grandparents' influence. Let's love them fiercely and never, ever take that for granted!