A conversation with Samuel today:
Samuel: Emily brought her puppy for show and tell yesterday. Her name is Lucy.
Me: Did the class think it was funny that the dog was named Lucy?
Samuel: Yeah, 'cause there's a girl in our class named Lucy.
Me: Yes, I know.
Samuel: She sits at my table.
Me: She's a nice girl.
Samuel: She kisses.
Me: WHAT?
pause
Me: Uh, who does she kiss? When?
Samuel: She kissed Sydney, and then it was really cute 'cause she wagged her tail.
Phew!
Thursday, May 30, 2013
Saturday, May 11, 2013
Random Mom Moment
Moms do get noticed.
It may not seem that way most days. At least, not as recognition from the very people we serve, our children. Yet this is what I want all of my friends to know this Mother's Day:
I notice you. I appreciate your example. As you go about your days trying to be patient and loving, you may never know the inspiration you leave in your wake.
To wit:
The summer after my high school graduation I had the great opportunity to visit my Aunt Susan and Uncle Bryan while they were in Germany. It was a grand adventure (one that my mother, who had never been to Europe herself, graciously allowed me to have).
My flight home was from Frankfurt to Orlando, then on to Salt Lake City. The flight from Frankfurt was delayed, and all its passengers were shepherded into a holding room. Since we had already gone through customs we were not allowed back into the general airport area.
The holding room was uncomfortable, hot, filled with smoke and the bad vibe of impatience. I noticed a mother traveling with three children ages, 7, 4 and a baby. The 4-year-old girl needed to use the bathroom; the mother got permission from officials to take that child out, but what was she to do with the others?
I offered to sit with her son and baby, and watch her baggage. She looked at me dubiously. I don't think it was because she thought I was risky, just that she was surprised to have anyone offer -- at least that's what I hope fueled her hesitation. "It's OK," I said, "I have a 7-year-old brother at home." That did it. She sighed a half smile and went on her errand. What else could she do?
Jeremy and I played card games until his mother came back, visibly relaxed. I was traveling alone and it was good to interact with someone. The family had been visiting her parents in Switzerland and were flying back home to Florida, where dad had returned a week earlier for work. We parted when we boarded the plane.
And there, for me, came the formative scene. The baby cried for much of that 14-hour flight, and the mother paced up and down the aisle with her, trying to soothe her. Instead of frustration, instead of anger, instead of defeat, that mother's face showed peace. She was serene. Absolutely tranquil. She was focused on one thing and one thing only: comforting her daughter, and because she attempted it in such an unrattled way, the fellow passengers who could have been bothered by the noise were also warmed by her sense of calm.
Jeremy waved to me at Orlando's customs. I waved back. If I had known how much I would draw from this memory as a mom myself, I would have left my place in line to thank his mother.
Moms, we notice.
To my mother-in-law, thank you for raising my husband. To my mother, thank you for giving me the confidence to raise my own children, and for continually building me up. I love you both.
Happy Mother's Day!
It may not seem that way most days. At least, not as recognition from the very people we serve, our children. Yet this is what I want all of my friends to know this Mother's Day:
I notice you. I appreciate your example. As you go about your days trying to be patient and loving, you may never know the inspiration you leave in your wake.
To wit:
The summer after my high school graduation I had the great opportunity to visit my Aunt Susan and Uncle Bryan while they were in Germany. It was a grand adventure (one that my mother, who had never been to Europe herself, graciously allowed me to have).
My flight home was from Frankfurt to Orlando, then on to Salt Lake City. The flight from Frankfurt was delayed, and all its passengers were shepherded into a holding room. Since we had already gone through customs we were not allowed back into the general airport area.
The holding room was uncomfortable, hot, filled with smoke and the bad vibe of impatience. I noticed a mother traveling with three children ages, 7, 4 and a baby. The 4-year-old girl needed to use the bathroom; the mother got permission from officials to take that child out, but what was she to do with the others?
I offered to sit with her son and baby, and watch her baggage. She looked at me dubiously. I don't think it was because she thought I was risky, just that she was surprised to have anyone offer -- at least that's what I hope fueled her hesitation. "It's OK," I said, "I have a 7-year-old brother at home." That did it. She sighed a half smile and went on her errand. What else could she do?
Jeremy and I played card games until his mother came back, visibly relaxed. I was traveling alone and it was good to interact with someone. The family had been visiting her parents in Switzerland and were flying back home to Florida, where dad had returned a week earlier for work. We parted when we boarded the plane.
And there, for me, came the formative scene. The baby cried for much of that 14-hour flight, and the mother paced up and down the aisle with her, trying to soothe her. Instead of frustration, instead of anger, instead of defeat, that mother's face showed peace. She was serene. Absolutely tranquil. She was focused on one thing and one thing only: comforting her daughter, and because she attempted it in such an unrattled way, the fellow passengers who could have been bothered by the noise were also warmed by her sense of calm.
Jeremy waved to me at Orlando's customs. I waved back. If I had known how much I would draw from this memory as a mom myself, I would have left my place in line to thank his mother.
Moms, we notice.
To my mother-in-law, thank you for raising my husband. To my mother, thank you for giving me the confidence to raise my own children, and for continually building me up. I love you both.
Happy Mother's Day!
Thursday, May 9, 2013
Flutter by
Look at me. Nothing on this blog for two months, then two posts today. What gives? Laundry avoidance? Probably.
Well, there's beauty in holding still for a moment or two.
The Quiet Wheel
Shh. Don't tell Emma I'm posting this. She doesn't like to be the center of attention.
She practically squirmed at the Student of the Month awards breakfast, where she was honored by her French teacher. "You don't like this, do you?" the teacher teased as she began her remarks.
Emma reminds the teacher of her middle daughter, who even as a baby would utter only the slightest "Unh, unh" if she needed something. In class Emma is self-sufficient -- trying to find solutions on her own before asking for help. She works hard. In a sea of different personalities, the teacher said, it is so nice to have a bit of calm. She appreciates Emma. She hopes she's meeting her needs.
I can relate. I am delighted that Emma got recognized at school, but I also listened to the teacher with a bit of sadness. She put into words the exact dynamic Emma fills in our home, too. Do I do enough to acknowledge this sweet daughter? Am I meeting her needs?
We call Emma our Quiet Wheel. Get it? The opposite of the squeaky wheel, and let me tell you, she follows a VERY squeaky wheel whose demands for name-brand oil exhaust us some days. That's not to mention the other noisy wheels spinning around here.
Throughout it all, Emma keeps turning. She is centered, with a steel-will axle at her core, and I love her more than I can say. "We could have 10 more of her," Jeff said. "Well," I answered, "maybe five." She is a teenager, you know.
Emma wrote this for her 9th grade English class.
Where I’m From
I
am from Salt Lake and Switzerland
From
my parents, my brothers, and my sister
From
sibling rivalries and jokes
I
am from a loud, busy, messy, crazy house
From
inside jokes and funny moments
I
am from gingerbread houses and extended family, from Kohler and Hatch.
I
am from bobby pins, from hairspray, and ballet shoes
From
fruit trees and sunflowers
From
scriptures and praying
I
am from brown hair and brown eyes
From
be nice and looks don’t matter
I
am from piano keys and learning how to play them
I
am from music and laughter and singing.
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