There are soccer moms, there are baseball moms, and then there are those of us who march to a slightly different drum.  We are the few, the proud.  We are the Kung Fu Mamas. 

 

Three days a week, rain or shine, 52 weeks a year, we load up our little warriors and head for the dojo.   We know the difference between a saber and a staff, an orange belt and a green, a Se Fon Se Be and a Kuhn leKuhn.  We can tell you where you left your nunchuks, tie your belt with our eyes closed, and threaten you in sign language through a plexiglass window.   We've cheered through the neverending rank test, felt the pain of the 3-minute horse stance, and screamed with pride when our child, or any child, broke his first board. 

 

We stick together.  We entertain eachothers kids in the lobby. We are a nontraditional breed, we keepers of the stinky sparring gear--a clan of warrior parents encouraging modern kids to master an ancient art.   We've had our share of broken lamps, and we don't always feel like sacrificing our Saturdays, but we believe that discipline and self control are lessons worth learning.   We believe hard work and physical training dont have to involve tossing a ball.   We are the Kung Fu Mamas.   Don't mess with us, and for sure don't mess with our kids.   We may just have a few moves of our own.

Dead Woman Walking

Two more days of life as I know it. Two more days, and half of one is gone. Slow down clock!  So much freedom, so much peace and quiet to soak up before it's gone, nothing but a distant memory. This Friday is the day. D-day. The beginning of ...*GASP* ... SUMMER break! **[insert blood curdling scream]** Yes, I prayed for these children, begged the Lord to send me these offspring. Yes, I adore them (separately, in small doses especially). Yes, I'm thankful for them. But I'm also not ashamed to admit that being a full time Mom is hard work. That 7 and 10 year old boys will wear you out. That I have been spoiled rotten for the past 9 months and am completely utterly not ready for what is about to take place. I will of course make the best of it. I will put on my big girl panties and assume the role of 24/7 entertainment coordinator. I will put on my warrior helmet and forge into the kitchen to become short order cook, referee, spiritual coach, and shaper of young men. I will put on my swimsuit to splash in the pool with them. I will drive them to the movies and the spraypark and the library and wherever else we can dream up a field trip in the triple digit heat. But just for the record, I'm going to be tantruming on the inside, at least for the first week. Because, just like the rest of my school-age SAHM sisterhood, I'm going to be secretly mourning the untimely death of the girl I used to know, lazy spoiled princess though she was-- that carefree girl who enjoyed things called naps, and quiet time, and solo trips to Target.

I just love Saturday. 

That is all.  Carry on.

The Best

 













"There's none so great a gift in all the world as the chance to glimpse life through the eyes of a small boy. "





I've seen a lot of neat things in my life.

I've stood atop the Acropolis in Athens, strolled the streets of Paris, gazed up at Michaelangelo's handiwork in Rome.  I've explored the coral reefs of Key Largo, locked eyes with a giant moray at 90 feet, rode horseback through some breathtaking Rocky Mountain vistas.  Yeah, I've seen some pretty impressive sights on this planet. But none more magnificent than what I saw today.

And I guess you could say that the good Lord and I have done a few cool things over the years-- led local civic organizations, wrote legal briefs that served justice and changed some laws in our state, volunteered with the Preeclampsia Foundation, been interviewed for the evening news on infertility, stillbirth and preeclampsia awareness, even had my poetry read on the air.  Through the years since Maria's death I've had the chance to minister to some precious women enduring things no woman should have to endure.  But none of these things is more significant than what I accomplished today.

No, there have been just a few days on this earth that stand out from the rest--and none of them are the kind you might expect.  Just a few things I've done seem to ring with the sound of eternity. There was the day I held the hand of a woman whose child was dying in her arms-- and found a lifelong friend. The day I sat up talking all night with a stranger who I'd somehow known forever-- and found my soulmate. And then there are the simple unglamourous days of motherhood, when I nurture little souls-- and find my purpose.

Today my six year old son made a simple request. "Jump with me, Momma." 
Jump we did. 
But in fact we didn't just jump--we SOARED. 
We sang. 
We laughed 'til our sides ached. 
We fell exhausted on that big black trampoline, side by side staring up at puffy shapes in a bright blue sky. Then we did it all again.
"This is the BEST," he said, breathless, and kissed my cheek.
"Yes it is," I said.  Yes it is.

I'd been looking for a sign, a stray God-wink of affirmation on my drab daily life in Just-a-Momville. What I got was a giant thumbs-up flashy God grin. 
This, too, is worthwhile. 
This, too, matters.
Today I saw the wonder of life through the eyes of small dirty boy with one front tooth. 
Today I brought joy to an angel in scuffed cowboy boots. 
Today I lived.
And the thought occurred to me that maybe, just maybe, the ripples of these little acts--the simple gifts of time spent with these boys--reach far beyond the bounds of my mere imagining. 
Maybe this is, after all, the "best" of me.

Spring Fever

 

I have a love-hate relationship with this time of year.  The roses and azaleas are beginning to bloom, with crepe myrtles soon to follow.  The evenings are longer and the boys and I enjoy our tandem walk/ bike ride to end the day.  On the other hand the grass seems to always need mowing, the weeds always need pulling, and the boys are extra rambunctious, bursting with the energy of Spring.
 
Tonight they were playing "somersault battle" on the couch.  Whose brilliant idea was this?
In this game, you somersault AT eachother, each hurling your body off an armrest toward the center of the couch.  Apparently whoever does not fall on the floor or crack their head on the table wins?
Well not surprisingly Littl’n got hurt.  He made the mistake of proclaiming himself the tournament champion, at which point Bigg’n declared, "OH ITS ON!" The little Einsteins agreed to another round, resulting in a heel to the chin.  "BUT MOM, it's not my fault-- I don't have eyes on my feet!”  And THIS is what happens when i try to have a telephone conversation.
 
On the plus side, it's still cool enough to enjoy hopping on my riding mower with a little Pandora.  This week I got a little carried away belting Zac Brown and doing doughnuts in the yard when I clipped a landscape timber, busting the deck on the ole John Deere. Yeah, Daddy was not too happy with Mommy that day.  But we take the good with the bad, because that's how this life works.  Another day, another season of challenges and growth.

Cracked

"It's not about finding a perfect person to love--It's about learning to love an imperfect person, perfectly."

My husband cannot sit still.

I used to think it was amusing, even cute, and seemed to balance my laid-back inertia. Later, not so much. We now have a little offspring with the same problem, so I'm reminded daily it's not their fault. It's genetic, yo. But seriously?

The familiar scene.. sitting side by side at our laptops working quietly, when suddenly the table begins to vibrate.. then shake violently. Is it an earthquake? A tremor in the force? No, it's a giant leg bouncing like a jackhammer under the table. Grrrrrrr. "Nervous dear?"

If you follow me on facebook, you may have seen this post a few weeks ago...

"If your marriage can survive ____, it can survive anything. Over the years, I've filled that blank with a number of things.. stillbirth, infertility, NICU, parenting, I repeat, PARENTING, and a myriad of other various hurdles. Today I'm adding 'writing a dissertation' to that list. HOLY. MOLY. This will be a great piece of scholarly literature if we can survive with some sense of peace/sanity in tact. Not killing eachother would be a big plus!"

Well, after some thought, i don't think I'm gonna kill him, but ducktaping his legs to the chair has not been ruled out. (And there just might be a stray Valium in his next cappucino.).
 
As I type this, curled up on the couch with my iphone in hand, the big bear is sound asleep in my lap, and all is right with the world. It occurs to me that we might be a little like that cracked set of antique salt and pepper shakers you bought at a flea market ages ago. Their quirky uniqueness was always a big part of their value. Of course they're both terribly flawed, but hey-- they're a matching set. An original matching set, might I add, something becoming more and more rare these days. You could probably get a pretty penny at auction, but no-- these are definitely keepers



 

Castle Wars

Today my sons were having a heated argument, an all too familiar occurrence in our lives of late.  The little one was on the verge of tears, and I wasn’t far myself, when mercifully, Daddy swooped in to intervene.  Handing them both giant foam swords, King Daddy declared, “It shall be settled by duel--Fight!”  The younglings stared at him, dumbfounded.  “Five rounds, best three out of five—Winner takes all, now fight!”

It was brutal.  It was close.  (From what I heard--I confess, the fair queen shielded her eyes).   In the end the youngest squire took a blow to the neck that sealed his fate, and ended the squabble definitively.  No one expected what would happen next, as the proud victor turned to find himself eye to eye with the king himself, wielding a Star Wars light saber. 

  “Now, you shall fight ME.” 

  “But Dad, you’ll kill me!” shrieked the wary warrior. 

  “And don’t you EVER forget it,” declared the king.

As I type this, my sweet sons are seated side by side watching TV, a program they actually agreed upon.  I often question King Daddy’s methods, but for the moment, there is peace in the kingdom.  And where there is peace, there is a happy queen.

Of Horrors

"Words have no power to impress the mind without the exquisite horror of their reality." 
--Edgar Allen Poe

Ah, the exquisite horror of reality.  A mother knows it well.  At least this one does.  It seems Mr. Poe was well acquainted with my life.

Exhibit A.

"Wow, Mom, I hope brother's tummy feels better soon. But if it doesn't and it's appendicitis and he dies, I hope he comes back with a cool story about heaven.  Please pass the syrup." 

In related news, today the dog brought me half a dead blackbird.  I repeat, HALF-- recognizable only by the remains of it's one small skeletal bird leg.  This is my life, in all its raw and cruel morbidity.  These moments are exquisitely real, and for that I count myself blessed to live them. No, for me the true horrors lie in the monotony between such moments of substance.  And I find at times, like most moms I'm sure, the greatest of courage is required to simply forge headlong into the painfully mundane.  Sock matching, anyone?  Oh, the horror.

Filter

Today my youngest son said to me, "Mommy, I really wish I had a sister."

What I wanted to say:

Shut your mouth, you insensitive little twerp!  You think I'm thrilled your sister died?  You think I enjoy watching everyone around me have daughters, knowing I never will?  Take the knife and twist it why don't you?

What I actually said: 

I know sweetie. That's why God gave you girl cousins to play with.  You'll have plenty of time to get to know your sister in heaven.  Just be thankful you have a brother.  Now eat. Your breakfast is getting cold.