What is a Marine Cut?

With the advent of High School, Boy has decided it is time to join ROTC.

 Now, if you knew me or Hubby as a teen, you would certainly find this course of action surprising in our offspring. To which my only response is: we raise our children to be their best selves, not us. But I digress.

Joining ROTC involves amounts of paperwork equal to the balancing of the federal budget, possibly in an effort to inoculate students for military bureaucracy. Somehow, in a fog of first day exhaustion we managed to push through and even had the proper papers notarized. Whew, Boy is officially set...

Almost. It seems he needed a haircut. Wait. I just did that - didn't I? After all, I knew this wouldn't fly..

 

So, we got a decent, above the ears first day of school cut. Not good enough. Boy said, "I need a cut no more than 3 inches and with a fade - whatever that is." 

"It's a military cut," I informed a completely blank stare. "Oh - you know - think Gibbs."

"Gibbs? From NCIS?" Younger squeaks, "He would be cute if he was younger! That is a good haircut, !" I'm sure Boy was greatly reassured that his 9 year-old sister thought he'd be cute

And off we went, for his second "do" in 2 weeks. Leaving the shop today Boy told me if this trend continues he will be completely bald by Labor Day.

Now he is all set - until the dress uniform comes home. Oh, the ironing I see in my future...

Hypocrisy or Hope?

As adults we practice the art of discerning. if your Catholic you're either an expert or a saint We judge the value of a rule and apply this to our lives as necessary. Driving my car at 5 sometimes 10 shh miles above the speed limit on the expressway is acceptable - in a school zone not so much. Practicing birth control is not only logical but necessary unless I want to raise a soccer team - adultery a big negative.

Having no difficulty discerning the rule of man versus the role of God I navigate these waters daily with no harm to my esteem or soul. Yet, as you know if you have read me in the past, I have been taking a break from THE CHURCH. This break has not gone well.

I have been a boat adrift.

Lacking a "home" it is too easy to push aside spirituality for the everyday minutia that threatens, as a vine in a Sunnyville summer, to crowd out everything in sight. And having promised myself I would have a definite plan before school begins again I tackled the church. Partly I wanted answers but mostly I wanted to say "HEY! I AM LEAVING BECAUSE YOUR RULES ARE ARCHAIC AND HATEFUL!" Shouldn't someone know/care that the intellectuals from their personal ivory tower are destroying my faith? I called a pastor.

Pastors, let it be known, are not removed. They are the social workers of their faith dealing with the humanity and all the conditions and issues that arise from such work.  It was to such a man that I voiced my predicament. We talked for a good while. I made it as clear as possible that I have a moral crisis with a policy of discrimination against homosexuals (among other things). It is wrong. It is hurtful.

I can't reconcile how to be a loving, supportive mother while attending a church with a hurtful policy toward an entire population. The priest far from shunning asked how many people in the church probably take birth control? or live with significant others outside of marriage? These are rules too, he says, yet no one bats an eye or passes judgement. There is no choice to be homosexual he points out, it is decided at birth. It is not wrong, it simply is.

He counseled me to have no fear of the people who disapprove (which I take to mean "THE church" - as I have no problem with people in general but he can't very well talk against his boss can he?) he recounted a glib remark from a friend that "maybe the church should get out of the marriage business altogether", and he went as far as to laughingly say that if anyone says anything "you can always tell them to go to hell."

Having spent my own career in "the trenches" while my policy makers are far removed I choose to see this as hope not hypocrisy. But will my children see it the same? Am I tacitly condoning the proclamations of the red-robed and removed or teaching independent, critical, thinking?

I'm not sure. The spiritual faith of my church is the vehicle by which I most comfortably reach my destination of reflection and communion with the universe and God. I do not attend mass for the policy, nor do I pray to connect with the Pope.

Tyrannical Rule

There is no democracy in Sunnyville. When the ruler is unhappy, cries of wrath can be heard throughout and the people shake in fear. Residents of Sunnyville are often found making offers to placate the finicky tastes of the despot. And when the tyranny is held at bay by laughter and joy, the residents rejoice - knowing that this moment is worthwhile, however temporary it may be.

Oh, there have been grumblings of revolt. A call to action among the populous. But the elders know this is simply a trading of one authority for another and largely ignore the rally. After all, how do you reason against a ruler who isn't old enough to go on the potty, let alone read your protest signs?

So, in the great tradition of two-year-olds before her there will continue:

Cajoling from tears into giggles by the crazy antics of her peasants siblings

Much watching of toddler-friendly television, after all who doesn't love a rousing round of "I Love You, You Love Me?" Especially repeated for the 3rd time in an evening?

Hiding of the "treasures" to include but not limited to: marbles, special dolls, candies, and anything shiny

Tickle sessions at the drop of a dime

Ring-Around-the-Rosie gala balls that continue until participants drop from dizziness

The constant use of redirection to avert the word "NO" for fear of swift retaliation in the form of on-the-floor-foot-stomping-screaming that lasts until something sparkly catches her eye.

All of this to be balanced by joyful demonstrations of new tricks that amuse, cuddles that put the cutest of puppies to shame, delight in each newly acquired skill, and - when things slow down - a refreshing peek at the wonder of the world as seen through new eyes. 

So, we will keep our little despot and continue to introduce civilized behavior to her repertoire knowing that these days will pass too soon.

Twenty-Five Birthdays

"Sure, I'll go," she off-handily offered. "Let me tell my mom."

After a quick check-in they were off, part of the group. Gradually, the laughter and calls dwindled as the two allowed the many to outpace and drift away.

They continued. Walking casually through streets each knew well - he from his daily journey to each morning and from just before every curfew; she from the familiarity found in home towns - they talked of nothing and everything. Comfortable, as friends always seem, to enjoy the silences and the laughter equally. Only bothered by the nagging sense that perhaps she should have some gift, though he insisted not.

Arriving at last, a flurry of activity takes place. There are introductions, cake, and baby cousins to keep her just a bit off-balance. There is the story of how much money he spent on the concert shirts that day and the slight discomfort that always accompanies being with any parents or adults other than our own. But, he is her friend and surprising even herself, she feels some comfort here.

Eventually, the two are alone again. Slouched postures, knees brushing lightly on the top step counting cars as they pass. Calling out "padiddle" and giving a playful punch as the game - and lacking headlights - required. Final tally was nearing a keg for her - which they laughingly agreed he could bring to her wedding one day.

Would you have told him then that this was only the first of 25 birthdays (and counting) he would share in some way with her, he probably would have laughed. He would have blushed at the idea that he would indeed carry the keg in to her wedding - little knowing it would in fact be his as well. But, life sometimes works just as we hope and birthday wishes can come true.

Happy Birthday my love! May all your birthday wishes come true.

Beginnings

Our lives are a series of endings - for each begins a new journey  or vice verse depending on your life outlook. Few may be as wonderful and melancholy as watching your child leave home to begin her own journey. Yet, what use are wings if we do not fly?

So it was that I froze in the baking sun, arms heavy with boxes and  heart burdened by memories as my sweet, blue eyed girl looked on at the other toddlers and children playing in the fountain. Part of me wanted to push her out - fly and enjoy; but intuition screamed to stop and watch. Given to her own devices she set the pace. Her small hands gripping a bucket, floppy sunhat shielding the glare, she studied the rowdy and meek alike. After gleaning what she could, she marked her destination in her mind and set off on her own - no hesitation. Soon she was immersed in the play she had chosen, her joy visible in the little dance she preformed around the refreshing spout.

Shaking off the vision, I turned to watch as my beautiful now-young-adult Teen loaded her brother down with yet another pile of college necessities to be hauled to her new, part-time, home. Wiping at the wetness winding down my cheek I pushed fears away and reminded myself that this toddler-young-adult-Teen will not merely follow blindly - she will confidently soar.

Envy?? Frustration?? Who Cares?

*Open letter to the chatty moms*

Dear Social Mom,

Please understand before I arrived in the parent drop-off line this morning: I woke to obsessively tweak my daily lesson plans. My tea and planning were interrupted by cries for Little Bear and the struggle to work around a cuddly toddler who insisted she sit upon my laptop. All before the sun lightened the sky. 

Then the whirlwind of preparing for school which consists of the normal rallying of the troops, calls to shower, eat, and care for pets ensued. The day's clothing plan was discarded because the iron seems to have had enough of my family and fled. 

Time was made to stop at not one but 2 different banks while juggling toddler morning snack and daycare drop-off. Once back home I quietly counted to 10 more than once while sibling bickering punctuated overly dramatic whines of pain as I attempted to pull a comb through the snarled, damp, nest atop Youngest's head.

In the 10 minutes left it was imperative lunches be made, bikes be placed in the van, not one but three field trip forms were shoved in my face more calm, cleansing breaths and ah crap it is garbage day.

I do not recount my prework hours for glory or praise. I tell this so you understand that while you may have all morning to park in the middle of the drop-off lane and chat to a friend who is standing in the crosswalk I am busily fretting over each second and mentally preparing for an ensuing parent-teacher conference. By this point my counting and deep breaths have worn thin. 

So get the heck out of my way, or I may just run you over. Whether the motive is frustration, overload, or pure envy will be difficult to decipher - but regardless, all the parents behind me with hectic schedules will applaud my actions and testify on my behalf.

Sincerely,

Parents with Places to Be

Hey there! Still Seashore. Still living the dream - if family, chaos, laughter, & love are your version of the dream. Instead of apologizing, I am merely picking-up where I left off so hop on or not as you desire.

Feverish, clingy, and whiny. These 3 words describe me by mid May Baby this week. She had a come-and-go-fever that would hit about 102 and slowly fade. Each evening I felt certain it was breaking and each night she woke feverish and needing to be cuddled in the wee hours. 

Now, it is almost May and even with MrS helping out this year toddler daycare is a germ factory I had one day left to be used for another pointless court date for Baby. This meant that each morning Teen would go off to school, for the whole 2 classes she attends on campus each day and Boy would stay home with Baby. Youngest (who needs a new moniker) went to school as usual where she was joined by Boy who reached school by bike about an hour late each day, once Teen was home to supply care until I returned from work. (One day this controlled chaos was even joined by Teen's friend who volunteered since Boy couldn't be late) 

If you recall my earlier description, you understand these have not been easy days for Teen or mornings for Boy. Yet, while they normally complain like most teens, not once did either complain about this extra duty. They took on this chore with grace and caring and I want to publicly thank them both. 

You are amazing kids and make me proud every day.

And for those of you concerned, not to worry we went to the doctor this am and it was a flu that led to ear infection - antibiotics and eye drops are in place.