Who Is This Kid?

A few years ago, when my husband and I mentioned to a family member that we were going to Disneyland, she commented something like, "Again?" Her disbelief and disdain were apparent. We had been the year before, why on earth would we be going there again?

There are several reasons I suppose.  For one thing, it is fun.  For another, it is truly the Happiest Place on Earth. When I am there I feel like a kid again, and I enjoy having my greatest worry be how long the line is to ride Space Mountain and where I am going to get my next meal.

Since having kids, however, the greatest reason for going to Disneyland almost annually is seeing how it changes from year to year. Each time we go it is a different experience.  I remember when Jared, now 13, saw Lightning McQueen for the first time and, reverently laying his hand on its hood, exclaimed, "See? I told you he was real." I remember the way Jack's little face lit up while watching the parade and how he waved shyly to Mickey Mouse. As the boys changed, so too did their enjoyment.

This year Jack got to experience Disneyland in a way he never had before - as an only child.  With Jared off with his band friends, it was just Mom, Dad, and Jack.  He was giddy with excitement. No big brother dictating which ride to go on next. No cajoling to ride a ride that was just too scary.  The park was his to enjoy.

And enjoy he did.  Pirates of the Caribbean was his new favorite ride. Where once he was terrified of the dark and the drops, now he relished in them.  He held his arms in the air as the boat went down and gleefully exclaimed, "I love this ride!" when we reached the bottom.  No sooner had the ride ended than he we was begging to go again.

With a little convincing from his mom and dad, he did agree to go on other rides. Another one of his favorites is the Finding Nemo ride.  This, however, is not one of my favorites.  Being packed into a small space submerged in water is not my idea of a good time. I did it, though, and I am a little ashamed to admit this, but I used it as leverage to convince Jack to go on a ride that he did not want to go on: Matterhorn Bobsleds.

Jack was convinced that the Matterhorn was scary. He dug in his heels and rejected every plea to go on it just once. He finally relented when I pointed out that the Nemo ride scared me but I went on it because I loved him. (Wrong, I know, but I was desperate!) There were still a few protestations as we waited in line, but no major meltdowns.  We were good to go.  I suspect that there was a tiny part of him that wanted to go on the ride, but he was not willing to admit it. As the roller coaster zoomed around, Jack screamed out, "I hate this" and "This sucks!" When the ride ended, I excitedly asked, "Wasn't that fun?"  His answer? "No. I am never going on that ride again." 

It was the same story with Big Thunder Mountain Railroad, which is one of my all-time favorite rides.  Again, he reluctantly agreed to go on it. Again, when we disembarked he declared he was never going on that ride again.  I didn't get it. How could he not enjoy these rides? They were so much fun!

On our last day in the park, Jared rejoined us. He was determined to take us all on Space Mountain because he wanted us to see the Star Wars additions that had been made to the ride.  Now, don't get me wrong, I love Space Mountain, but it does scare me a bit.  I think it's more the thought of the ride than the actual ride itself.  The hour long wait was also a bit terrifying.  I worried, too, that this ride would be the one to finally put Jack over the edge.  If he was scared of Thunder Mountain and the Matterhorn, how would he react to Space Mountain? I had visions of him absolutely terrified, screaming that he wanted to get off.  Therapy would be needed in order to recover from the horror of the experience.

Surprisingly, Jack agreed without any fuss. He chose me to sit by because I "make him feel calm." Feeling the need to reassure him, I told him, "If you get scared, just hold on tight and scream." As we grabbed onto the bar, I linked my pinky finger over his so that he could feel me beside him as we plunged into the dark. Racing through the darkness, all I could think was how scared Jack must be. "Woo hoo," I shouted over and over again in an attempt to convince him we were having fun.

When the ride came to a stop, I looked over, expecting to see sheer terror on his face. 

"What did you think?" I asked.

"That was cool!" he exclaimed.

"You didn't think it was scary?" I asked in disbelief.

"No." 

What?  Who was this kid?  This couldn't possibly be the same kid who swore he would never ride the Matterhorn again.  Space Mountain is way scarier.

At least it is to me.  Once again I was reminded that my children are their own people with their own perceptions and their own opinions. 

And evidently for Jack, anything related to Star Wars is too cool to be scary.

Highway Song

I wrote this on the long drive between Sacramento and Los Angeles.  My older son, Jared, was with his school band, traveling by bus while my husband, younger son, Jack, and I drove down in our car. We planned to meet up with Jared after the band competition two days later and spend some time as a family at Disneyland.  It felt strange to make this trip that we had made so many times before without my first-born, and I couldn't help but think about how our lives had changed, and would continue to change, as my son ventured forth into adulthood.

*********************************************************************

Somewhere on this road, on a bus full of exuberant middle-schoolers, is my son. His absence in the seat behind me tugs at my heart, for I understand that this is only the beginning of his gradual pull away from me.  The journey toward adulthood has begun.

I picture him, somewhere on this road, on a bus, laughing and talking with his friends. It is as it should be. When we dropped him off this morning, I asked him, "Are you happy to have a few days without us?"

"Yes," he replied, laughing.

This, too, is as it should be.

At the rest stop, my husband parks the car facing the freeway.  My eyes scan the river of vehicles stretching as far as I can see. I search for my child, desperate for a sign that, though separate from me, he is there, still within my reach, even if it is only my eyes that can reach him.

No buses appear, and our incomplete party continues on its way, he and I moving in the same direction, yet distinct and separate.

A heartbeat ago, I brought my precious boy into this world and without a thought, I set him on his path. Even though I have guided him along the way - walking beside him, holding his hand, helping him up when he tumbled - the journey has been all his own. It was only the newness of motherhood that deluded me into thinking that I played more than a supporting role.

As the road wanders on, I watch out the window the scenery sliding by. Will he see the same things I see? Will the endless rolling green hills quiet his restless spirit? Will the bird floating on majestic wings bring a smile to his lips? Will he eagerly drink it all in and marvel at the sheer beauty and magic of it all?

Or will he not even notice the world flashing past his window?

It is his journey, so it is for him to decide what he sees along the way. I can only hope his years with me taught him to look out the window out into the world beyond, to see the life all around him and the infinite possibilities it has to offer him.

Later on we will meet up, and my heart will leap with excitement just to have him near me again. I will listen with rapt attention to his stories, stories that are all his own and in which I do not play a part. I will be thankful to simply be afforded a window to his journey through its retelling.  For this is also as it should be.

Our tires hum a highway song as on and on we roll. It is neither happy nor melancholy.  Rather, it is both. It is the song of life.

And somewhere on this road, on a bus, too far away for me to hear, it plays for my son.

Putting Down the Lenses

I recently read several posts about the guilt the writers felt for having missed a day of blogging. Now, here I am, writing after having missed three days. How did that happen?  I had figured it would be easier to write once Spring Break arrived, bringing with it slow, peaceful mornings and unrushed evenings. My experience has been the exact opposite.

With my husband still off from work recovering from knee surgery, we have been running around trying to get a few of our many half-finished projects around the house completed. Once we decided to host Easter this year, we ended up adding even more projects to the list. On top of that, there have been meetings to attend as we prepare for our older son to start high school next year, laundry and packing and forms to sign to get ready for his school band's Disneyland trip, and my younger son's school dance performance to attend. In short, we've been busier than ever, leaving little time to write.

Maybe that's not such a bad thing.

At my son's dance performance last Tuesday, I ended up with an obstructed view of the stage. This isn't unusual, being that I am what some might consider vertically challenged. My older son, Jared, had a better view, so I handed off the camera to him. For the first time, all I had to do was watch my child dance. Every time before, I had witnessed such an event through a camera lens. When the performances ended, I always felt as if I hadn't really seen them, having been so caught up in getting the perfect shot with which to record the moment.

Writing isn't so very different. Events are viewed through various lenses in order to discern some significance in them. We look back at the images we have recorded and reflect on each of them, trying to determine which image captures the moment best, the image we will hold up to the world in hopes that they will be as captivated as we were. The image that will preserve the moment for all time.

And sometimes, in our desperate search to immortalize the moment, we miss it completely.

Challenging ourselves to blog daily about slices of our lives is a challenge worth taking.  It teaches us to view even the most seemingly inconsequential moments of our lives as the valuable building blocks that they are. And ironically, that sometimes means putting the lenses down and simply living in the moment.

Making Room for Change

Change is inevitable.

That doesn't make it any easier, though.

I've been thinking about change a lot lately.  My older son is getting ready to start high school next year.  That is going to be a huge change, for him and for me.  A month ago, my mom moved into assisted living near me, which resulted in change for the entire family. Change is a necessary part of life, to be sure, but it can leave you feeling a bit uncomfortable at times.

Of course, there are also less stressful, less life-altering changes.  A few weeks ago the sofa my husband and I purchased for our family room was delivered.  We were long overdue for a new one. Our old one had served us for over 14 years, seeing us through multiple pets and two young children. It had taken a beating and had gotten to the point that I was embarrassed to have anyone over. When our new sofa arrived, we put it the same spot where the old couch had been.  It was bigger and darker in color, so I was somewhat startled every time I walked into the room, but I figured that I would get used to it in time. We planned to eventually purchase a new entertainment center and a new chair. I was pretty sure a new rug was in order, as well. In decorating, it seems, one thing always leads to another.

What if, I wondered,  we put moved the t.v. to the corner and put the couch on the opposite wall? It was an idea that I had been kicking around for a while, so yesterday afternoon, when we should have been cleaning and getting ready for my mom's visit for Sunday dinner, we started moving furniture around.  When we were finished, we took one look at the room and said, "I think I like this!"

Suddenly our room seemed more open and spacious.  That shouldn't have come as a surprise, I suppose since we had taken out a large entertainment center and a chair. I was excited about the new look, and maybe even more excited that with this new arrangement we weren't going to need to purchase a new entertainment center and chair.

But as my husband and son moved the chair and the entertainment center out into the garage, I felt a tug at my heart.  My husband and I had bought the entertainment center when we were newly married, living in our first house.  The chair had been bought when we moved into this house nearly 15 years ago. I felt sad watching these pieces of furniture that we had carefully and lovingly picked out as we started our lives together being removed, knowing they would be eventually discarded.

Change, even good change, can be hard.

But I realized that I had a choice.  I could focus on the loss and feel sad, or I could focus on the positive that resulted from the change and feel happy.  Change necessitates the shedding off of at least part of the old.  There is no change without loss of some kind.  We get to choose, however, how we look at change, good or bad.  We can look back and dwell in the loss, or we can look ahead and embrace the new.

I choose to look ahead.

Ready for Spring Haiku

Winter storm rages.
I know we need the rain, but
I'm ready for spring.

Too Many Choices

I want to paint my house.  I'm not talking about the outside (although that needs painting, too) but the inside.  And not just one room.  All of them.  Okay, I do have few rooms that have already been painted and are not in urgent need of a fresh coat.  But the living/dining room, the hallways, the laundry room, the kids' bathroom, and the game room are still dressed in 15-year-old boring builder beige.  It's definitely time for a change.

After spending too many hours on Pinterest looking for just the right color, I decided to order a fan deck from Benjamin Moore.  That would make the job of picking out coordinating colors for all my rooms easy!  It even says so right on the fan deck: "It allows you to easily and quickly pick the ideal colors for your painting projects." 



Yeah, right.

I've had it for a couple of months now and I am no closer to deciding. There are over a thousand colors on the thing.  I forget the exact number.  It doesn't matter.  There's too many.  I mean, how many shades of beige does the world actually need?  Yes, I know. I said I wanted to get rid of the beige.  But really I want to replace the boring builder beige with a pretty beige.  There's a difference, I swear.  Actually, there are many differences.  Red undertones. Blue undertones. Green or yellow undertones.  There's beige and then there's greige. I find colors I like, but then I hold them up against a piece of furniture or the stair railing and realize that whatever undertone the color possesses does NOT look good with whatever undertone the wood has.  Then I'm back to flipping through the fan deck in search for a color that contains the correct undertone, whatever that might be.

Right now I have several strips spread out with colors I like and think will work. I suspect, though, that some of them I chose simply because of the name. "Sierra hills." I live near the Sierras; that would be a good one!  Or, "sandy brown." I love the beach; that would be good, too!  Of course, I have also pulled out "moccasin" and "blanched almond" and their names aren't quite as exciting, so perhaps I haven't completely lost my mind.  Yet.

The number of choices is simply too overwhelming.  I will confess that I have perhaps crossed the line into absolute insanity a few times, thinking, "Maybe I should order a different fan deck."  Uh, no. Definitely not. More choices will only lead to even more confusion.  If the right color isn't on this fan deck, then it just doesn't exist. Period.

At some point I am going to have to make a decision.  It's either that or resign myself to living for the rest of my life with boring builder beige.  At least that's a fairly easy choice to make.

A Slower Pace

Today is going to be a long day.  It's Friday.  It's the last day before Spring Break.  There's a 100% chance of rain, and we all know what that means: indoor recess.  

To further complicate matters I was at a PTA meeting until 8:30 last night.  When I arrived home, my husband was just getting ready to leave to pick up our older son from his band concert at the high school. So, he and my younger son hopped into my car and off we went.  Since none of us had eaten, we stopped to pick up a quick dinner on the way back home.  Nothing like eating at 9:30 p.m.!

So, it was well after 10:00 before my head hit the pillow.  For some people, that may seem early.  For me, that's late.  Especially since I awoke at 4:30 this morning and dragged myself out of bed so I could try to get some writing in before I had to get ready for work.  I am a person who needs her sleep and six hours just doesn't cut it.

A rainy day Friday and a lack of sleep is a deadly combination.

I am hoping that the beacon of light that is Spring Break (and perhaps an extra cup of coffee) will get me through.  Less than ten hours to go!  I will be the little engine that could, chanting, "I think I can, I think I can, I think I can."

Children coming into the room screaming? "I think I can."

Phone ringing, interrupting my lessons?  "I think I can."

Student complaining that someone looked at them funny? "I think I can."

Another student telling me that they don't have their report ready to present and explaining why it's not their fault? "I think I can."

Students fighting over who gets to spin the spinner on the Twister game? "I think I can."

The final bell of the day ringing?  "I did it!"

I'm not sure who will be happier at the end of the day, the kids or I.  It's not that I don't love my job, I do. My class has the ability to drive me crazy, but down deep (sometimes it's really down deep) I adore them.

But I need time to breathe.

I need some time to move at a slower pace.  I need time to think, time to plan, time to dream, and time to just do whatever I feel like doing in the moment.  When school is in session, there is never enough time. It seems like I am always rushing from one thing to the next, leaving a trail of unfinished projects (and a huge pile of papers needing to be filed) behind me.  There is no time to catch up as there is constantly something new that needs doing.

After Spring Break there will be that final mad push to the end of the year. State testing is just around the corner.  Open House looms ahead. Field trips. Assessments. End-of-year parties. Final report cards.  The list goes on and on. It will be crazy.  It always is. A break is definitely needed to re-energize before that last dash to the finish line.

Nine more hours.  Can I make it?

I think I can.