The Storm Before the Calm

Wow, what a month! I think I've come home each evening without an ounce of energy left in my body. Nothing has been catastrophic or overly negative; this just must be the busiest May I've ever had. I guess I say that every year. I'm now getting psyched! This is also the most exciting part of the year. These are the days when I can again become giddy about staying at home for a while with my boys. This year will be different. Nick will be in clinic for much of the summer, plus some classes (that sounds so nonchallant), and will study like a mad man for the first round of dental boards. As of the other day, Nick is now officially a third year dental student. That sounds so distinguished! Somehow he managed to get through finals without too much taxing on the family life. I am so proud of him, and now that we're over the second major hump of time, I am breathing a little easier. I've now taught in Houston as long as I taught in Lubbock. WOW. We've been here for quite a while. Looking forward, perhaps we still have a chunk of time to go. But looking backwards, it really has gone quickly.

My summer is already pretty "booked." Nick and I sat down one night, as finals were wrapping up, and planned the most amazing anniversary trip. It will be just us, and yes it will be expensive. I see it as a huge investment in US. Time, amazing sights, time, time, and more focused, uninterrupted time. I love Nick all of the time, but doing something completely special and out of the ordinary--and just for us--is so invigorating.

The boys have part-time school over the summer. Fun, enrichment weeks for Nathan, and two-days a week of preschool for Michael, mostly so I can clean, declutter, and revamp for the next school year. And sew a little.

Here are a few recent photos.

One of the photos is of the white bearded iris that bloomed for me on Mother's Day. It is from the rhizomes that we've had since our first neighbors gave them to us in our first house. They've been dug up and moved in a bucket each time we nomads have relocated. This is the first flower we've seen since we were in Lubbock. It was a nice reminder of the old days, but a fresh feeling of things yet to come.

Sweet Potato Man

It won't take me long to pick out a potato when I just cook for myself.
Among the zippy and rushed cart drivers in the mid-Saturday mayhem at the grocery store today, there was a sweet little old man who crossed my life path in the potato aisle. He must have been in his eighties and he was blocking the entire span of the sweet potato display. I wasn't in a hurry: my normal buggy driving speed, respectful patience, and no outward signs of haste should not have tipped him off that I was wanting him to move. He just shuffled backwards a little so that I could reach for some yams. Those were his words. I assured him that he could take his time, and wished him a nice rest of the day. His words stuck with me.
I learned at that moment that I truly love having a full grocery cart. It is a symbol of my life. I've never just shopped for myself. I've never had to just portion my cooking for one. I fill the cart weekly with nourishment, both in food form and the potential love that goes into preparing everything. All of this is at the core of my being and my self worth.
I started to think about what it would be like if I had the sparse little cart, holding only a few things just for me. What if I put one meager little sweet potato inside a bag just for myself. Would I ever put in the time, effort, and attention into preparing meals for just me? When would I ever need a whole package of carrots? It would take ages for me to go through a whole tub of peanut butter, or a jug of pancake syrup.
I thrive on feeding my family. For the remainder of the shopping experience, and still now, I am sad for the man with the one sweet potato. In that one little sentence, I knew a lot about that man. He liked sweet potatoes. He is lonely. Someone at some point probably took care of him, his grocery shopping, and his nourishment. And he misses that.
Tonight I got to bake my full bag of sweet potatoes. I piled them all up and took them to my parents' house. There, we all gathered and talked and ate our food together, enjoying each other's company. I am humbled to have these little experiences in my life that remind me to not take things for granted. I never knew I could have so much reflection over sweet potatoes.

Mother's Day

I saw a funny card in the split second that Michael allowed me to peruse the Mother's Day card aisle yesterday. It was a scene with masses of people at the beach and asked, "Can you spot the mother in this picture?" I'm looking for anything that might stick out as mother-ish, but since there wasn't anything obvious, and Michael was already tired of me looking at this ONE card, I turned quickly to get the punchline. "There's NO mother in this picture because, dummy, mother is still at the van, loading up lawnchairs, towels, picnic coolers, sand toys, bug spray...blah blah blah, and might never make it down to the beach." Oh how painfully appropriate! I laughed out loud amongst all the other really quiet, super serious card browsers, then took my two year old shopping date to another hemisphere of Walmart.

Mother's Day isn't always celebratory. I am sad for a friend who spent her first mother's day without her mother who recently passed away. I am sad for my former student's mother who had to spend her first mother's day without that child. I am sad for another former student who again visits her mother in the cemetery for Mother's Day.
I painfully remember a time when Mother's Day was nothing but a cruel tease for myself. I know there must be so many people out there who hurt on Mother's Day. There were so many days that wanted my own child to hold. I counted myself as a mother, but had nothing to show for it--and didn't really know if I would EVER have anything to show for it.

I am so fortunate. I can look back on those days and smile a half-relieving smile and a half-grieving smile. I still think about how the others would have turned out, but now I can hug my children (when they're not squirming away), get them snacks, bathe them, read to them, smell them, clean up their messes, tuck them into bed, console them, giggle with them, sing to them, guide them, and just watch them. Look and see what they've already become. It's the best thing in the world.

From the Soccer Sidelines

I'm still not embracing my new role as a soccer mother, but I see the joy that it brings Nathan, so fine...I'll grin and bear it. Not without comments and opinions, and perhaps a few whining sessions. As I drove--in traffic--to soccer practice with Nathan, I grumpily (is that a word?) dreaded sitting out in the heat now that Spring is by the wayside, kicked viciously out of bounds by the impending summer inferno. Come to find out, a really nice breeze whisked around, turning my cranky self into much more comfortable observer.
It is really a riot to watch soccer practice. Each child is so different. I should know this; I work with children. Seeing them every day and all day, however, might cast a little haze over how funny they really are. Watching some of the parents brings different elements of hilarity to the equation. Here's my recollection of the most recent practice.
Player A: One of the coach's sons pouts and refuses to play about 80 percent of the time. Although he's a sweet kid, maybe soccer just isn't his thing. I can understand completely. Soccer has never been my thing and I would pout if I had to play. He hangs, cries, stomps, and kicks the ball allllmost to the bayou so spectators gasp as we KNOW he will inevitably fall in or something. Which he doesn't. But he smiles a coy grin at the ounce of attention.
Player B: Coach's child number two plays pretty decently. One of the better players, I think. It is pretty easy to see that soccer is his and NOT "player A's" idea for recreational fun. He focuses and completes the drills attentively, and well, doesn't pout.
Player C: Fire engine redheaded kid whose aggression stereotypically matches. Darling little kid, but tries to make cheap shots at elbowing, pushing, naahnaahnaahing faces, poking, tripping, hmmm...at his OWN TEAMMATES. If he'd channel his aggression into tactful and skillful soccer playing, he'd be a stellar five year old player. In the meantime, he's just hacking off his own team.
Note: Player C's parents do not see any of said negative behaviors. I swear Dad was napping in the lawn chair for the entire hour behind his shades.
Player D: Obviously he has grown up around soccer. We were early to practice so Player D's older siblings were actually playing with the players already there, kicking back and forth and trying to do loosely organized drills. Player D seems like a really nice kid, and he's not a bad soccer player either.
Player E: Seemingly overscheduled, high energy kid who apparently takes sabotage-your-own-teammate classes with Player C. He's not as aggressive, but he can be a real pest. His mother, however, watches intently and stops him whenever he is starting to act naughty. Thanks mom!
Player F: Younger, well mannered little boy who is probably skilled equally with Nathan. I like talking to his mother. He takes water breaks about once every five minutes, and gets a free cuddle with mom at the same time. I think it's more about the cuddles than the water!
Player G: Oh, BLESS HIS LITTLE HEART. Where do I begin? Full blown tongue exposure, complete with spit blowing ALL THE TIME. He spits toward his mother CONSTANTLY, spits in the direction of his fellow players, coach, other parents for no reason whatsoever. It's NASTY and disrespectful. Mother is clueless, chatting on her cell phone twenty yards away the entire practice. But whenever she IS around, there's no reaction from her at all--even when he's spitting right to her face. When he runs, it's actually pretty funny because his arms revolve like a motor just like a bathtub scuba diver might--just a lot faster.
Player H would be Nathan. He was pretty clueless in the beginning. I can't blame the kid. I've not conditioned him in the area of soccer EVER. He finds grass irregularities or dandelions or line patterns in the soccer goal highly intriguing--perhaps sometimes more intriguing than playing soccer. He runs with his legs flared out in excitement, and sometimes gets disoriented in which direction they should be heading. He is starting to show more aggression and I am not sure if I like that at all. We'll see. I love to see him beam with happiness when he's out there playing--going the right way or not.

They all love to be goalie...at the same time. And pouters pout (and spit--maybe he's trying to be a camel) when it's not their turn. Shoes come off ALL the time. They're often thirsty. Whenever there's a breaktime, several go off into the nearby little trees to climb. And don't come back until mom gets off the cell phone and dad wakes up from his lawn chair nap. Someone usually needs to go to the bathroom, which there is NO bathroom around--conveniently since there are TONS of kids and parents there all of the time. After it all, they are tired little buggers. Nathan loves it, and I am glad for that. I don't love it, but I've found some humor and enjoyment in watching it--and I like to see his smile. I'm glad he's not a spitter.