State of Obvious

I watched from the corner of my eye as my daughter leaned forward toward the screen.  The screen was Black Panther , the newest Marvel superhero movie.  We like superhero movies, generally speaking, and have been looking forward to this particular movie.  It did not disappoint. But, even more important than that, I watched my daughter watching the movie and felt full.  Full of love for her, full of appreciation for a movie that honors her heritage, full of admiration for how well she has accepted herself - even though others have not always.  The beautiful costumes and hair, the STRONG and intelligent females, the ease of the language and unspoken respect for each other - all of these sub-messages in a superhero movie were not lost on me.  And, as she leaned closer and closer to the screen, engrossed, I knew they were not lost on my girl, either. --- For the first time since joining my profession, I legitimately do not feel safe.  Friday we spent...

So this is seventeen. It's charm and silence and sighs. It's longer legs and towering above my head. It's venturing out alone in a car. It's struggling and succeeding.   It's struggling and failing. It's beauty in small moments and watching TV together. It's independence and complete dependence. It's being sure and being completely lost. In many ways, seventeen is nothing new.   He's still him, and I'm still me.   In many ways, seventeen is nothing I've ever known. It's a strange feeling in my heart, in this space that he occupies, in this chamber, in this place. My own seventeen was a lot more mystery, a lot more self doubt, a lot more fear. My own seventeen was painful and strange. And so this new seventeen is scary, too. It's letting go, even though I'm not ready. It's holding on for dear life. So, this is seventeen.  *Photos by Payneless Photo...

Dear Josh,   I missed your sixteenth birthday.  I'm sure you recall - or maybe it wasn't so bad because you spent the whole day with your friend watching movies.  Godzilla and Guardians of the Galaxy, you've said.  It's no surprise to me that Godzilla was your favorite of the two.  That atomic green monster holds a special place in your heart. It was very difficult for me to be away from you when you crossed this threshold in your life.  I remember turning sixteen, being sixteen, and wondering when I would feel like I was actually sixteen.  When I was sixteen, I went and found my first job, I started driving myself around, and I pretty much felt like I was in the wrong skin.  I'm only now, at 37, beginning to feel in the right skin.  Or at least comfortable with the skin I'm in.  But you - well, you don't seem to have a problem being you.  I can't explain how very happy that makes me feel, how very reassured.  Because it ...

This summer, instead of blogging (which, let's be honest, I haven't been doing much when it's not summer.  But, I digress), I have been: - Job hunting (found one!) - Having repeated teacher nightmares (one last night!) - Looking for free resources to use in my classroom (need more!) - Watching too much TV (an accomplishment given that we only have about five channels!) - Building an addiction to Longmire (hooray for Amazon Prime and Netflix!) - Not cleaning the house much (who cares!) - Visiting California (first world problems!) - Scrapbook shop hopping with my sister (charms ahoy!) - Wondering where Carly's next mood swing will take me (and she's not even a teenager!) - Freaking out about how tall Josh suddenly seems to be (holy cow!) - Questioning so many of my life decisions that they've all started to swim together into one (yikes!) - Reading too much BuzzFeed (see above!) - Eating an unusually large quantity of cinnamon gummy bears (I blame m...

The house is still, though it never seems to be exactly silent.  Always there is a buzz, a sigh, a whirl.  Fans spinning or washing machines, dogs snoring or people turning over.  In the night, we are at our most vulnerable.  And yet, we trust. In my heart there is a persistence of hope during these silent hours.  It changes from day to day, that thing I hope for.  Some days it is a small hope for better weather or maybe some rain.  Other days, it is a heavy burden holding me down and I just want it to float away.  I turn this way and that, searching searching, I'm not sure what for.  I keep wondering when I'll find it , that thing that makes the pieces come together in the right order.  I often think that, perhaps, that thing is already here and I've just gotten really good at ignoring it.  Whatever IT is. In these silent hours, mind spinning and thoughts a blur, I let my body slow down into that pattern of just before sleep. ...

Dear me, I'd like to say a few words about what this day means.  This day of birth wherein I (you?) entered the world some thirty seven years ago, asleep.  Yes, asleep.  And still trying to catch up where I left off when so rudely interrupted by a smack on the behind. I'd like to say there is some magic formula or perfect sentence that sums up what it means to advance another year older and wiser, but if anything I've learned that most days (including birthdays) go on basically like the ones before.  Sure, there are the frilly types of days mixed in: celebrations, births, surprises, and the like.  But, really it all mixes together into memory-soup and it's hard to separate the strands. The year of thirty-six was spent largely learning to become a teacher.  Interestingly enough, I learned that I already pretty much am one (a teacher) and that there is a lot more fuss and bother than actual teaching on some days.  (Freshman - need I say more? (Okay...

The vast blue sky And golden rays Turtle dove songs outside my window The smell of freshly washed hair My daughter's soft skin Brown eyes A roof that hasn't leaked A painted picture of the sea The taste of beans and chile Clanging heater vents, alive with warm air Rosy, heart-shaped lips Chocolate The ocean pulsing on the sand White snow laid freshly down Skeleton arms of trees Dogs barking over the cat's meow A quilt made of favorite shirts And dreams.

I looked at you and I thought Oh, that's what this is. It's brimming over with pride, screaming inside with fear, falling all over myself, I'm sorry I said that, Can we start over, Green, blue, gold, And red. I looked at you and I thought How did we get here? This place where the words echo Flying between us like projectiles Sharp and sweet and smothering. When did we make that turn And suddenly arrive in new territory Where you are almost grown And I am running behind Trying to catch up. I looked at you and I thought I see me In your eyes, in your face, in your smile I see the puzzle pieces fit together But somewhat out of order And with landscapes I don't recognize Places I have Never been. I looked at you and I thought You are still mine. You will always be mine. These broken moments Are only fragments of what we are Who we are Who we can be Who we will be Together.

August is a busy month in the T house.  Carly's birthday comes first (as noted), followed quickly by Josh, followed even more quickly by our wedding anniversary.  Quick fact: Joshua came home from the hospital on our first anniversary.  Fourteen other quick and dirty facts about my firstborn: Photo by DeAnn Payne thesipproject.blogspot.com -  He loves Godzilla. -  And Bigfoot. -  His long standing nickname is Chibby.  He earned it by naming his toys "Chibby" when he was playing pretend.  At one point, he requested that we stop calling him Chibby and start calling him Shredder instead.  That didn't really work out. -  Other nicknames include, but are not limited to: Chibnasty, Chibster, Joshy Boy, Joshy Boshy, Joshuweta, Joshy, and Bug-a-boo (though that last one is rather antiquated these days, sigh). -  Josh has a secret and special nickname assigned by his Aunt Charlotte which I shall not reveal. -  Josh love...

When Josh was seven (the age Carly is now), he was a different sort of kid than his sister.  She is high energy, momentum building, must-have-distractions, "When are we going swimming?" 15 times an hour asking - and we're only a couple weeks into this thing we call summer.  She's bored.  Josh used to get that way sometimes, but mostly he was just happy to have a squirt gun, some legos, or a stick to play with.  And, when he wasn't, I would send him over to Gramma Annie's for a few hours/days.  He was and continues to be mostly self-contained. This summer I am faced with a rather large dilemma.  Carly wants to do stuff.  Lots and lots of stuff.  But, we live in the sticks.  The closest park with green grass to play on is 15 minutes away.  And after we arrive, she'll be bored and/or hot in five minutes or less.  (In other words, the payoff just ain't worth it).  She really wants to go swimming.  But that's 45 minutes away ...

Once, when Josh was still very small, my mother-in-law turned to me and said: "You know, it's like he's always been here." And right there, in those eight words, she perfectly captured my faith in God. There are days, like today, when I look at my child and I can almost see eternity stretching backward like a long unfurling satin wing.  We've been on this path together for a while now, though we've forgotten the greater part.  But it was only just tonight, while I had my hands in a bubbly sink full of dishes, that I came to understand the significance of that. I often think to myself: I am failing my child . or I am a terrible mother . or I can't believe I just did that, again! or What is wrong with me? These kids are making me crazy and they're not even doing anything wrong! or I should not be his/her mother.   or It's no wonder we don't have any more kids.  I don't deserve them. or Well, you get the idea...

I wish I could tell you that I feel certain.  Certain about what will happen, what choices to make, what paths to go down.  But I just don't.  Some things are just hard. We had a conversation the other night about choices.  It was a hard conversation for both of us, but I hope also a good one.  I had a realization of my own while we were talking, and I hope it's something you remember for a long time. We talked about the road we have to take.  About how the easy path looks so tempting and so good.  And the hard path looks like it's straight uphill.  But the easy path is a trick, it's a foil.  The easy path only goes down, away from what you want and need, away from the rewards that are worth having.  The hard path goes up towards the things we want and need.  It might take longer, it might look too difficult, but it's the way that leads to the best rewards.  And everytime we take that hard path, we are only being our tr...

I got to check out of my life for almost a month. I got to stick my feet and hands in the sand, feeling the joy of small and simple things. I dreamed fantastical dreams, imagining what it would be like to live in those big places with lots and lots of money and very little worry. I got to act silly for absolutely no reason.  Just because it felt good. And dance lightly across the pounding waves. And for a little while, everything was perfect. I highly recommend it. *special thanks to Cha-Cha, Queen of Legos, for the great pictures and letting us visit*

Some days I can't seem to un-grit my teeth.  Do you have that happen?  Every muscle seems to be tensed up, waiting for something to happen, ready to pounce.  I told myself to relax at least five times today - and yes, I was counting.  Because it seemed completely unreasonable, even to me. Here's a funny little update/fact/tidbit/snapshot/thing.  Carly, lately, likes to start sentences with "Mom, I just need to tell you something."  Usually, what she has to say is some kind of explanation.  Like, what she wants to do and why I should let her.  Or, what she thought it would be just fine to do but now she's not so sure.  She has also grown fond of the phrase "Just so you know."  "Mom, just so you know, I didn't do it," or something to that affect.  It's been going on for a good month now.  Josh, on the other hand, doesn't have a lot of cutesy phrases these days.  His phrases are more like sighs.  Or, my favorite,...

The answer to every question, every hope, every fear.  All wrapped up in two very different children.  And a spotted dog's backside.

I've decided the hardest part of being a parent is the absolute absence of control.  At first, of course, you feel completely overwhelmed by just how much control you have.  Decisions about eating, sleeping, clothing, activities, schools - it can be overwhelming to make every small decision.  But over time, they grow up.  You blink and BOOM They're almost 14. They're thinking about how fun it will be to drive. They're looking at girls. They're staying home alone. They're making choices, choices, choices - not all of which you like very much. The control was all a cruel illusion.  And now it's gone. But, what is infinitely worse, is when you see the train wreck coming.  The little signs of trouble ahead.  And all different kinds of trouble. Perhaps I could be more specific. There's this boy at church.  Maybe there is more than one, I am not sure.  This boy likes to say things about my son.  Mean things.  Hard things....

I'm dancing on the edge of emotions Up a little, down a little Back to the start Running from the end Over, around and through In the very next room Lies a boy of 13 Feet sprawled, blankets wild Nose buried in a book Across the hall A girl of seven fights sleep Tosses and turns and Creates excuses to leave her bed On the couch is their dad So tired Already snoring Lost to dreams I'm tired, too Tired of dancing walking and spinning It must be the wind Over, around and through.

I took a stroll down memory lane tonight, sampling the bitter and sweet that is all tied up in pictures.  Along the way I stumbled across what might be one of the last pictures of Carly with her Grandma Annie.  It made me sad and happy all at once, like eating the last chocolate in a box. I also found some silly moments I had forgotten and wondered how I let that happen.  I always think I will remember each golden moment forever, but it slips away.  And I scolded myself for being such a poor steward of time. I have watched my children grow into these little (and not so little anymore) people, but I have been so close to the phenomenon that I almost didn't see it happen.  Like magic, suddenly they are new creatures, wholly formed and beautiful in a new way. I sometimes wonder what my story is, when it will happen.  That dramatic, defining moment that you either get through, or fall through, or check out of.  Maybe it's already happened....

This Mom thing is hard.  Coming up on 14 years of doing it, it hasn't really gotten any easier.  I'm still totally lost. I'm not really sure why I get mad so dang easily.  Or why it irritates me that you have the same habits I had when I was 13.  It probably seems like a very long time ago that I was 13, a lifetime, and it was. My heart feels very tender lately, it seems to have this surging sort of quality.  It worries all day long about what you're doing, how you're thinking, what decisions you're making.  It troubles over the tools I've given you - or the lack accordingly.  I am constantly afraid that I am not enough to keep you safe.  I'm much too lazy and easy-road-taking.  I can only hope to make up for that by loving you beyond the boundaries of common sense. When you were small, you used to come and tuck into my body, tight against my chest, and I could smell your hair.  It was feather soft and silky fine, golden nut brow...

We are so fortunate to be friends with an amazing (and now local!) photographer.  She was inspired to create the S.I.P. (Service is Painless) Project.  The SIP Project is basically a pay-it-forward, she takes beautiful pictures of you for free and you pay-it-forward with a service project of your choice.  I can't say enough about this project - it's brilliant and wonderful and inspiring.  DeAnn, the SIP creator, took pictures of my kids way back in October.  We finally got our end of the bargain completed and the final results can be found by following this link .  You can help this project out in two (or three) very simple ways:  First, follow her blog.  And second, leave questions or comments for her.  Third, if you're local, sign up for the SIP Project.  You won't regret it!