If you give a mom five busy kids and a packed schedule, she will learn to rely on her car.

If she has an especially busy week coming up, the car’s steering will start acting suspicious.

She will not tell anyone, and pray fervently that it miraculously resolves itself.  And it will… for a week.

She will cleverly devise a plan to switch cars with her brother-in-law so he can take the car to his “people.”

The car will prove too mysterious to be figured out in one day.

She will take the car to a local mechanic.

The car will prove too mysterious to be figured out for less than $1000.

She will appeal to higher powers and her loving mom&dad will loan her their car.

She will delight in the sunroof and forget to close it, showering the inside of the pristine car with locust blossoms.

She will tell her children phrases like:  ”We don’t eat in Grandma’s car.”

and:  ”We don’t put our feet on Grandma’s car seats.”

and:  ”No, you can’t stick your head out of Grandma’s sunroof.”

She will present the repair quote to her husband who will call his friend who “knows a guy.”

She and her husband will move the car from one mechanic to the other, and on the way home her husband’s car will stop working at a gas station.

They will walk home.

On the busiest day of the mom’s week, they will drive the grandma’s car to the preschool picnic.

The husband will then go to the first grade “Author’s Tea” at the local elementary school.

When the husband picks her up, he will be driving her car instead of Grandma’s.

She will learn that Grandma’s car got a flat tire on the way back to the picnic, close to the second mechanic where his friend “knows a guy.”

They will arrange a new tire with “the guy.”

Her husband will unsuccessfully attempt to jump his car’s now-dead battery with her car while she plays “bubble gum, bubble gum in a dish” in the backseat of her car with her doughnut-sugar-high children.

Her husband’s car will be towed to “the guy.”

Her car proves less mysterious to “the guy” who can fix it for half the price, yet the part is backordered and won’t be available for 2.5 weeks.

Her car is able to be driven in the meantime, but will be considered an upper arm workout every time she touches the steering wheel.

The mom will cry a little.

But then she will watch her boys playing in the sunny rain.

And she will know that somewhere, someone is seeing a rainbow.

And somewhere deep inside she knows that this, too, shall pass.

And she feels thankful for her family and friends…

And her very busy schedule.

(And the promise of a margarita.)

My mom is blue:

wallpaper

dishes

sandals

peaceful skies.

My mom is brown:

  teddy bears

  wood table

  ground beef

  solid firm earth.

My mom is red:

 bright gifted shirts

 impatiens

nightshift-rimmed eyes

lifeblood, essence, core.

My mom is green:

 green beans

 breadwinner

 honeysuckle along the fence

 abundant consistant spring.

My mom is black:

college graduate

jelly beans

“chocolate” yeast rolls

smooth black obsidian; my rock.

My mom is sacrifice and song.

My mom is strength and service.

My mom is celebration and soul.

My mom is.

Random Thoughts on a Friday

1.  People post recipes on Pinterest that say things like, “my husband raved about this for days.”  Based upon some of those recipes, they must have previously served that husband poop.

2.  Slushies should never be served in styrofoam cups with straws.

3.  One 3 year old boy I know refuses to wear undies because they interfere with his ability to, um… explore.

4.  One 40-something year old boy I know has the same issue.

5.  Even if you have a trampoline in the backyard and an inflatable bounce house in the basement, children will still prefer to jump on the couch.

6.  My 5 year old son has a better understanding of the DVR than I do.

7.  Sometimes the thing that should be the easiest (like revealing oneself to friends) feels like the hardest thing to do but results in the lightest of moods.

8.  Some days the hardest thing about marriage is getting the flat tire changed.

9.  ”Message me” and “Massage me” are two very similar but VERY different phrases.

10.  In joining an online book club reading a book about parenting boys, moms will introduce themselves by saying things like, “I just want to understand and enjoy this adventure of life with my boys!”  For the true translation, please refer back to #3 and 4.

I have had a taste of freedom.  It’s not Braveheart’s ride in on a stallion, face painted in warring blue, ready to fight for my country “FREEDOM!”  It’s more like little ol’ me, weaving in and out of parking spaces in my mom-mobile, remnants of doughnut on the corner of my mouth, ready to politely request my grande non-fat vanilla latte to go.

This taste of freedom comes from our evening sports schedule.  It’s only happened a handful of times, but my husband will opt (He actually chooses this!) to stay home with all three boys and I get to take the girls to their volleyball and soccer practices.

…and just sit.

…maybe watch.

…possibly read.

…drink some coffee.

…have adult conversation.  (Meaning conversation with grown-ups, not an inappropriate exchange…ahem.)

It’s really lovely.  But freedom comes with a price, doesn’t it, Braveheart?

As I walked in the door to my abode last night following one of these serene evenings of freedom, I was bombarded by three boys with chocolate on their faces (one without pants), clothing strewn all over the floor, the husband sitting in his chair with laptop and the television volume set to “stun,” abandoned television on upstairs announcing Spongebob’s Best Day Ever, and nearby a newly purchased box of fruit roll-ups completely emptied with foil and wax wrappers scattered haphazardly all over my bedroom floor.

Re-entry is brutal.

My limited knowledge of space travel comes mostly from the adult discourse I overheard  and glimpses of nightly news I was forced to sit through while awaiting The Cosby Show as I was growing up in the 80′s.  One thing I have gleaned from this less-than-extensive education is that re-entry is one of the most dangerous and difficult parts of space flight.  I can relate.

According to the article on this site, http://h2g2.com/approved_entry/A6381038, the fundamental problem in re-entry is that the spacecraft has to be going at a precise amount of speed ~ fast enough to enter the upper atmosphere and brace for atmospheric resistance, yet quickly drop enough speed to be able to encounter gravity and make a safe landing.  There are four different methods of doing this.

The first is “powered deceleration.”  While my re-entry is a little different from the space shuttle (just a bit) in that I am going from a slower rate of speed to a much faster one, it still needs to be planned and precise.  The shuttle will fire a rocket backwards to send energy in the opposite direction and slow itself down.  I have found that a perfectly timed Starbucks can have the same effect for me.  I need that caffeine to hit the bloodstream at the categorical moment of re-entry to provide energy for the blast about to transpire, yet dissipate from my system so as to allow sleep to occur before midnight.  It’s very delicate.

The second is an “energy exchange.”  For the space shuttle, this means converting kinetic energy into potential energy and storing it in some device.  For me, I need to somehow gather the potential energy gained from my peaceful evening and channel it into the kinetic energy necessary to enter a house in which 4 boys have been busily demolishing, destroying, thrashing, walloping, whooping, hollering, and so on and so forth.  I find that listening to my tween daughters discuss boy/girl drama in addition to hearing Bruno Mars’ songs played incessantly on the radio prepares me in such a way that I’m ready to leap from the car and tackle whatever damage the boys may have inflicted.

The third is “mass shedding.”  Not used since the Apollo program, mass shedding is in layman’s terms dumping what is not necessary in order to provide a lighter, safer landing.  My mass shedding means the laptop is sleeved, the bookmark has been placed, and the coffee cup is empty.  In other words, my electronic devices have been turned off, and my seat back and tray table have been placed in their upright and locked positions.  Upon entering the house, my arms are empty and available for leaping children, falling beverages, and whatever wiping, collecting, and/or scrubbing will be necessary.

The fourth and final method is “energy dissipation.”  This is very similar to the energy exchange except that kinetic energy is progressively converted to another form such as heat as the descent occurs.  For me this step is called “reaching the speed limit.”  I drive very slowly on the beginning of our way home.  You know that annoying person that waits until the road is absolutely empty to turn out of the sports center parking lot?  Me.  You know that creep going five miles below the speed limit at 8:30 pm?  Me.  Back off; I’m preparing for re-entry.  As I get closer to home, my speed picks up until by the time I’m on my street I am cruising at the posted speed limit.

I remember watching one of the space shuttle landings.  When the vehicle actually hit the ground, there was a flurry of activity.  Sirens flashing, people in uniform running about, ambulances and fire trucks and police vehicles…but no astronauts.  They are not usually seen until much, much later at a press conference ~ pretty anticlimactic for me as a spectator.  But upon my re-entry I become all those personnel.  Pj’s are thrown on, “wet” clothes from the bathroom floor tossed in the laundry, beloved lost toys found, blankies rescued from underneath the bed, toothbrushes loaded, homework signed, drinks poured, trash collected, televisions turned off or reset to a volume less than “my-ears-are-bleeding,” kisses given, books read, backs scratched, feet rubbed, babies carried up and tucked in…

And then I sit down to my press conference to discuss the evening with my husband.  And I wonder…is the moment of freedom worth it?  Though certainly a gift, freedom is not for the weak.  It is not something given easily or taken lightly.  But it does help to right my center a bit.  Despite the fact that re-entry is arduous and trying, the me that remains after the storm is a little more Becky and a little less stressed-out-mama ~ a little more woman and a little less housemaid.  So I practice Eucharisteo – giving thanks for all things – and say that I am thankful for the freedom and the re-entry.  I am thankful for the relaxation and the rumpus.

I am thankful for the peace…and the mess.

I was in my garden this morning.  (I wish I could begin every blog post this way!)  I was digging out a trench of sorts, in which to put a border around my huge flowerbed that I call “Kate’s Garden.”  As I was alternately digging, putting in edging bricks, and refilling around them with dirt, I was noticing how nice the soil is in my garden.

40 Years of Dirt

40 Years of Dirt

40 Years of Dirt

40 Years of Dirt

40 Years of Dirt

40 Years of Dirt

Some people listen to music as they are preparing dinner.  Some people have conversations.  This is what I have:

Ian:     “Knock Knock.”

Colt:    ”Who’s there?”

Ian:     “Poop”

Colt:     “Poop who?”

Ian:     “Poop-deck!”

Colt and Ian:     “hahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha!”

AND

Colt:     “Knock knock.”

Ian:      ” Who’s there?”

Colt:     “Mario.”

Ian:     “Mario who?”

Colt:     “Mario poops!”

Colt and Ian:     “hahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha!”

AND THEN, SPINNING IN CIRCLES…

Ian:     “Knock knock.”

Colt:    ”Who’s there?”

Ian:     “Spinning.”

Colt:    ”Spinning who?”

Ian:     “Spinning poo-poo!!”

Colt and Ian:     “hahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha!”

Good thing they’re cute.

The music to our meal

Happy 2013 to all moms!

These are some of the mom-things that came out of my mouth this past year:

“Feet are for kicking soccer balls and running, not slamming into your brother’s face.”

“It is better to be kind than to be right.”

“RELAX!”

“Are you kidding me?!”

“Because I’m a girl, and girls don’t have donkeys.”

“Who forgot to flush the potty?!”

“Did you wash your hands?  Do it again with soap this time.”

“Popcorn for breakfast?  Sure.”

“Oh, so I guess the family ghost put that big gouge in the wall!”

“Get your hands out of your pants.”

“Because it’s mommy’s turn to play Angry Birds.”

“Yep.  You’re my favorite.  Don’t tell the others.”

“Who lives in a pineapple under the sea?  Spongebob Squarepants!”

“Poopdeck!”

“Well get used to it; life is not fair.”

“If you cry one more time while you’re playing Mario Bros, we are turning it off.”

“Go read a freaking book or something!”

“Mom is not available.”

Oh wait…I said all those things this morning.

Here is to another year of fabulously quotable moments!!  Bring it on, 2013!

Happy 2013 to all moms!

I have been blessed to be part of a book club for the last ten years.  As with any group of people with real relationships, to say we have been through much together would be a huge understatement.  We have been through the jungle, the wilderness, the snowstorm, the desert…and in some cases, are still winding our way down those paths together.  But I feel like one journey in particular was completed at  last night’s gathering.

Several years ago (forgive me, for not currently remembering how many years exactly) one of our group came to a book club that I happened to be hosting on the night her husband left their marriage.  It had been something brewing for some time, but the sudden shock and force of it caught us all a bit off guard, I think.  We circled our troop, literally, pulling chairs and pillows in close to one another in a tight circle of encouragement, grief, and loss.  I am sure no one knew exactly what to say or do, but it felt important to be close and be together.

In the years that followed, I watched this lovely lady bloom like a quiet velvet astilbe hidden under a shaded Linden tree.     Sometimes the growth and beauty was obvious; demanding attention, separating itself from the larger, showier flowers that bloomed around it.  Sometimes the changes were more subtle; the strengthening of the roots during the cold winter months so as to bloom even bigger and stronger the next spring.  Often the astilbe was overlooked or unseen, but seemed to accept this fate and continue to bloom for itself and for the eyes that would one day take notice.

…and a time for redemption

This same friend has made an impact on my life in many ways, many times.  But perhaps the one time I will remember the most was at the Easter celebration following the Christmas that I lost Kate.  Jars of Clay released their album “Redemption Songs ” during that time period, and “God Will Lift Up Your Head” was very popular.  For our small, tight-knit church community, this song and the entire album were profoundly important.  We were all still healing from Kate’s death and the loss of that little one in our lives.  I don’t know how aware I truly was of that fact until my friend told me that she felt strongly that the Jars of Clay album was a part of our hope and healing ~ for all of us.

And now I feel that once again the song speaks to us.  She went through a very painful experience but has found redemption in a newfound understanding of who she is, what she loves, and how to voice those things.   Those years were barren in ways, but also soil that was resting just waiting to burst forth with new growth, new life, new love.  The pain has been redeemed.  It provides hope yet again as I continue to look for ways to find redemption in my own loss.

I was not able to be at our monthly book club last night, unfortunately, due to a sick child.  And I found out today that my dear friend is engaged to the man that has been stealing her heart (and ours, along with hers) for the last year.  I can imagine that there was great joy as she shared that news with the same circle of friends that once huddled in close to her, as if to shield her.  I imagine there was a closeness consisting of hugs and laughter.  I imagine everyone felt the redemption and the hope…and the love.

My deepest congratulations to the happy couple.  To my friend, you are deserving of  a this love, and along with it the laughter and joy it will bring.   May your astilbe bloom brighter than ever.  And to my friend’s new fiancee, congratulations.  You have found a strong, loving soul with whom to align yours.  (And you have inherited several ladies who will be watching you very closely!  )

And in honor of today, here is “God Will Lift Up Your Head.”

Sometimes I feel like motherhood comes with a card ~ a  ”Mom Card” of sorts.  And in this Mom program, one often finds herself  ”leveling up.”  I think this happens in karate when people test into different belt colors.  I’m almost sure that’s what my six year old keeps talking about happening when he plays Pokemon:  battling, reaching new levels, gaining new cards.

Anyhow, I think this week I “leveled up.”  There are a few reasons that led to this conclusion:

1.  I found this on Tuesday night in the midst of homework whining, chore whining, candy whining, dog-in-need-of-peeing whining, and husband’s “why are they all whining”-whining:

My “Mom Card”

My reaction was simply to sigh, remind the toddler of the only substances truly allowed in the potty, and grab the bleach.  I didn’t freak out; I didn’t scream; I didn’t cry.  I didn’t even whine.

level up.

2.  I realized on Wednesday afternoon that I am not bothered by a toilet seat being left up.  A few years ago I counted myself lucky to have two potty-trained daughters and a polite husband (well, in this category anyway), and now with three boys you might say I’ve regressed to accepting this toilet-seat-behavior.  But you would be mistaken.  The potty seat being left up is highly preferable to the ocean of pee that will happen as an alternative.   

level up.

3.  Today when I needed a little something sweet and went to raid my kids’ Halloween candy, I willingly chose TOOTSIE ROLLS.  Seriously.  In the face of Reese’s peanut butter cups and Hershey bars, I went for the candy that everyone saves for last.  Even though I know most people do what I do and throw all of last year’s Tootsie Rolls back into the Trick or Treat stash every year just to try to get ride of them, I STILL chose them.  What is that?!  Motherly sacrifice gone crazy?  Motherly self-esteem at a new low?  No.

level up.