The Fab Five

I've had a slow week, and it's been enjoyable. But I've felt a little lost, to be honest. My big To Do list is done, and there is nothing grand looming on the horizon, aside from normal every day life, and the ensuing {and much anticipated} onslaught of the holiday season. I've worked this week, and gone home at night, and just been able to sit on the couch and watch football, and it's been good, but it's also felt weird. 

You see, on May 12, 2016, my husband and I met Miss Mary Elizabeth Perry of Memphis, Tennessee, and it was quickly evident our son was smitten with her, and we knew him well enough to know that this could very well be the real deal. They had their first date at a college social club roller-skating event on February 24, 2016, and from our phone and FaceTime conversations with Philip after that first date, we took the risk in March and extended an invitation for Marybeth to join us in May on our family vacation to Walt Disney World (WDW). It felt very daring at the time to invite a young lady, whom we did not know, to come stay with us in a shared hotel room. But, at the same time it felt very natural to want to meet her, and to include her in our annual trek to the happiest place on earth. 

Honestly, aside from the initial awkwardness over the idea of sharing a hotel room, I thought, "What better place to get to know one another? There's plenty to do, conversation can be natural and not forced, and time together at Disney is always fun, right?" Thankfully, she took an equal risk and said YES, and so on May 12, Philip and Marybeth drove up to the Grand Floridian, where Steve and I had been sitting in the porte cachere, waiting and very excited and anxious for their arrival. She was shy at first, and rightfully so. Meeting "the family" can be daunting. But, for my part, I loved her from the beginning. How could you not look at her, and just be smitten? So much beauty, inside and out.

She was energetic, enthusiastic, funny, sincere, honest, heart-warming, joyful, happy, and caring. I loved that she jumped IN to the selfies, I loved that she sang songs with me in the room and in the parks, I loved that we ran together later that first day, after midnight, to the Princess Hall to meet Rapunzel. 

We had decided, with the extension of the invite, to go ALL IN on our son's girlfriend, and we could tell early on that she was going ALL IN with us, too. She had been to Walt Disney World before, but so many things were still new to her, and seeing them through her eyes brought an added measure of joy to me and to Steve. I snapped this photo of her as we rode the monorail over to Epcot on that first day - she was straining to see the sights out the monorail window, and it made me smile so. Such a tender blessing. I could weep over the joy this beauty gives to me and to Steve, and to our son, Philip.

We had a wonderful day at Epcot. Steve, Philip, and I all chuckled every time Marybeth said something, because it included some iteration of the word wonderful. "And I think to myself, what a wonderful world..." Yes, yes, we all thought the day was indeed truly wonderful! We worked our way through Future World, and then headed back to the World Showcase, and we were able to introduce both Philip and Marybeth to the Flower and Garden Festival food booths. It was a beautiful Florida May day, and we just worked our way around the world, sampling drinks and eats, chatting, having fun. It was also wonderful ;-) that we had the PhotoPass photographers around to take our picture! Such a blessing to have the memories and the magic captured.

Steve and I had the opportunity to buy Magic Kingdom (MK) After Dark tickets for the four of us for that first day, Thursday May 12. We asked Marybeth if she was up for a long day. We tried to explain to her that we vacation hard at WDW, and I don't think she fully took in the extent of that, but she did learn quickly. ;-) {See, why waste any time when you are at the Happiest Place on Earth? Sleeping is for home!} 

So, after spending a full day at Epcot, we park hopped over to Magic Kingdom and from 11 PM to 2 AM, we were able to do so many attractions at MK. Probably my favorite moment was when I finally had a GIRL with me that wanted to go into the Princess Hall. I have always adored having sons, but in that moment, it was wonderful to have a glimpse of what it would be like to have a daughter. So very precious.

Doesn't her smile light up the room? I loved that she and I both got to meet Rapunzel together, for the first time, on this magical After Dark night! 

We got back to our hotel that night at 2:30 AM, the day spent, full of fun, laughter, smiles, and happy togetherness. As we approached the monorail station and prepared to embark, my Philip says, "Babe, where are your car keys? I want to go get your hairspray out of the car for you now." Now, to many people that might seem completely normal, but Steve and I immediately exchanged a knowing glance. This was PHILIP saying this, Philip who likes people to bring HIM things, Philip who loves to yell, "Dad...", Philip who tires first and loves to head to bed, Philip who almost never offers such a gesture! And this was Philip offering this AFTER a very long day, at such a late hour! In that moment, I knew he loved her so very much, and my heart melted toward them even more. 

He headed off to the car and we headed on to our room, all ready for bed. Friday the 13th was Animal Kingdom day, and we were going to get up and go hard again the next day. After all, we had only four days together, and four parks to hit. And up and at 'em we did. We were enjoying our time together, yet just a little bit sad that Andrew couldn't join us. He was in his gap year preparing for culinary school, working at two restaurants at this point: Ida Claire in the morning, and Whiskey Cake at night. It did not seem the same without him, and we were all thankful for Marybeth's presence to help aid our coping with Andrew's absence. 

One of my favorite things to do at Animal Kingdom is to see The Festival of the Lion King (FOTLK). I seriously never tire of this show. It's spectacular. The Lion King movie came out June 1994, after Philip was born that April. Buying that video when it came out was a "necessity", and my boys watched that movie together so many times during their early years. I always loved belting out the Circle of Life, and all the other songs, singing along while they watched the movie. So, on this May 13, 2016, when we were at Walt Disney World for the first time without one of us, as I sat in FOTLK, I wept. I cried for all the years behind us, and all the years ahead of us. I wept at the memories, and I wept at the possibilities. And I cried for the joy and the anguish of the day we were in - the joy of having Marybeth with us, the anguish of not having Andrew with us. Ah, "the circle of life, the wheel of fortune..."

Circle of Life

Elton John 

From the day we arrive on the planet

And blinking, step into the sun

There's more to be seen than can ever be seen

More to do than can ever be done

Some say eat or be eaten

Some say live and let live

But all are agreed as they join the stampede

You should never take more than you give

In the circle of life

It's the wheel of fortune

It's the leap of faith

It's the band of hope

Till we find our place

On the path unwinding

In the circle, the circle of life

Some of us fall by the wayside

And some of us soar to the stars

And some of us sail through our troubles

And some have to live with the scars

There's far too much to take in here

More to find than can ever be found

But the Sun rolling high through the sapphire sky

Keeps great and small on the endless round

In the circle of life

It's the wheel of fortune

It's the leap of faith

It's the band of hope

Till we find our place

On the path unwinding

In the circle, the circle of life

And as we walked out of the show, those lyrics ever seared on my heart, my eyes damp from the tears, my 6' 2" baby boy is actually standing there in the Harambe Market plaza, waiting for me, having woken up at 3 AM to fly over from Dallas to WDW for 24 hours. It was the greatest surprise of my life, and I cried and screamed and laughed all at the same time, and that baby boy Andrew just laughed and laughed, knowing he had pulled off a good one.

This boy of mine has such a big and genuine heart. "The circle of life, the wheel of fortune, the leap of faith, the band of hope...'til we find our place on the path unwinding..." And in that moment, it was pure and joyful, and the five us us were together. Andrew got to meet Marybeth, and Marybeth got to meet Andrew, and for one day we were all together. We, like Mickey, Minnie, Donald, Goofy, and Pluto, were the Fab Five.

We finished up Animal Kingdom and park hopped to Hollywood Studios, and the day went all too fast. Andrew had worked on Thursday, and had to work on Saturday night, his ethics preventing him from asking for a day off. It meant so much to all of us that he wanted to come over and be with us. I've teased him since that he has forever ruined FOTLK for me because when I walk out, there is no grand surprise of him standing there to greet me. ;-) He enjoys that, I think. ;-)

I have lots of photos of that day to scrap, and I will get to them all soon I hope. Such a wonderful day. After Andrew left us, we finished up our trip Sunday at Magic Kingdom. And that trip ended, and life went on. The Fab Five. Philip and Marybeth continued dating, and by Thanksgiving, Philip began talking to us about engagement rings. And he and Marybeth, having only started dating in February, knew soon they were the forever ones for each other, and even looked together in Dallas over Thanksgiving break for rings. In our family, we fall hard, and we fall fast. ALL IN. {I remember Steve and I started dating in October, and were engaged in July. When you know, you know.}

It was February 25, 2017 when Philip proposed to Marybeth. And the wedding planning swirl joyfully began. Venue found, date selected, and all the decisions began falling into place. And this time last week, Steve and I were driving toward Gallatin, Tennessee with a car load of supplies, set to host the rehearsal dinner Friday night. Philip and Marybeth had the most beautiful wedding on Saturday, September 9, and have now begun their very own Happily Ever After. Such a blessing and such a joy. And I'm so looking forward to scrapping it!! 

And right now we are officially The Fab Five. And we are ready for another chapter. Another beautiful, new chapter. What I have learned is that Best Day Ever is an organic term. You can and do have the Best Day Ever. And then life comes along and hands you something bigger and better, another Best Day Ever. I'd like to think that The Fab Five are ready now for another Best Day Ever. Right now we're just resting up, living our normal life, waiting for it. But I think I will see it coming someday. I hope I do. I sure hope I do. Because The Fab Five will take another Best Day Ever. "There's far too much to take in here..." But, we're trying. Boy are we trying.

Best Day Ever ~ The Fab Five at Hollywood Studios ~ May 13, 2016

Sketch Credit: Pinterest (I apologize - I cannot find the layout that inspired me - I will continue to search for it.)

Paper: Simple Stories

A Chef in the Making

I don't know if I should go back to the little boy that was quick to help me in the kitchen, or to the boy that made me a cookie that spelled MOM for my first birthday that I was back at work, or to the boy that was in his element as a food runner and expo at Top Golf, or to the boy that did not want to go to college and did not really enjoy college...These could all be starting points for the current chapter of his life, and I guess they are all touch points.

When Andrew was abroad for his semester in Lithuania, I did a layout about him and on that layout I used the quote:

"We must take adventures to know where we truly belong."

And while I struggle a bit with the expense of sending him to college in Colorado for one year, and then the expense of send him abroad for a semester, I know ultimately it was all part of his journey. I can't really complain. The child told me dozens of time his senior year that he did NOT want to go to college. I believe part of why he finally succumbed to going was the realization that he would get away from us, or at least get away from me. So, he did win in the end, and have his "gap year". And the $25,000 we spent on that "wasted" year and a half was - has to be - viewed as an investment in him. It's only money after all, right? ;-) It does no good to think otherwise....

So when Andrew set off for Colorado Christian University, he was going in as an English major, to become a teacher. And then before the first class began, he had shifted more toward a Sociology major. Or maybe I have this vice versa. {Who can recall?!} Then, during his semester in Lithuania - at least at the beginning of it - he wanted to major in Theology, and post graduation start church plants with his friend Chase. But somewhere along the way during that European semester, he got the bug about cooking, and found an online cooking class. He wanted to take it concurrent with his spring 2016 semester at CCU. And then it shifted to him wanting to only take the cooking class, and not enroll at CCU at all. And we debated and pleaded with the boy across the ocean to at least please just ENROLL for the spring 2016 semester, and then we could talk about it when he was back stateside mid-December 2015. We didn't win that contest. We haven't really won a contest with this kid for a few years now. Stubborn he is.

Now, you may recall that hubby and I had moved from our big home to a little apartment on July 28, 2015. So, said child coming home to live with us was really quite a factor, as there was very limited living space....And the second apartment bedroom we planned to use as storage soon became a bedroom that was going to need to be lived in. Andrew disregarded our advice and listened to his own heart and did come home indeed in December 2015, and did indeed take a "gap year". He did not move out until March 11, 2017. We had him at home for fifteen months and despite the apartment life, we really enjoyed having him around. And while he has long been a handful, I have missed him every day since he left. And I've only got the one photo of him in his new life, which hurts just as bad, and in a completely different way.

But, while he was home, he was busy making good use of his time: learning the trade, building his resume, pocketing his paychecks. Through a Walt Disney World photography club connection, I garnered the name and number of a chef at a local farm to table restaurant. That chef hired Andrew  in January 2016 to work in the kitchen, cooking on the line. Andrew worked at that restaurant until Christmas Eve. For several months during his Whiskey Cake stint, he would work the morning shift at a sister restaurant Ida Claire. He'd leave there at 3:30, after arriving there at 8 AM, and clock in at Whiskey Cake at 4:00 PM, working until close, finishing up around midnight. Then he'd get up again and do it the next day. He worked hard. He respected his coworkers and they respected him. 

After doing all he could do at Ida Claire and Whiskey Cake, he hopped over to another sister restaurant to work in their bakery and gain some different experience. It was amusing to hear him tell tales of his workdays all year long, and the change at the twelve month mark was good for him - he found out "for free" that he didn't want to pursue a bakery/pastry direction at culinary school. He said it was all too slow of a pace, and too repetitive. Working at the fast pace of the kitchen line had shaped him into someone enjoying the pressure of managing the tickets' meal prep.

The boy has always had an incredible work ethic and a strong moral compass. I was amazed at his energy level when he worked at Top Golf - always bounding out of the house, ready to go to work. At Whiskey Cake, Ida Claire, and The Ranch he was the same way, even though his work days were many times in excess of 12 hours, and he was on his feet that entire time, working non-stop, without breaks, water, food. I watched him "feed" his passion during his gap year, and I watched his passion feeding him, in the literal and physical sense of course!

We were trying to diet when he was home and it was so incredibly hard! That boy was always finding a restaurant for us to try, or wanting to go try a new dish at one of his faves. We frequently caved because we knew our time home with him was limited, and that upon completion of his culinary degree and his entering this industry full-time as a career that his time off will be minimal, and our odds of being home together for the holidays slim to none. But, ponderings aside, if he wasn't working and we weren't eating out, we might be found watching the Netflix series, "The Chef's Table"  while playing a game of Catan. The industry as a whole is fascinating, and I soaked in all of this information, using it as my primer to morph into "mom of a chef". ;-)

And during this gap year, while we were crammed in an apartment, building a house, having a son living at home, I watched not only the episodes of a chef in the making on the Netflix series, but I watched it happen to my boy. The longer he worked the line, the more he found himself refining his skills, defining his tastes, discovering his dreams. Around December 2016 he decided he was finally ready to formally apply to The Culinary Institute of America. He had the experience, he had the credentials, he had the recommendations, and above and beyond all of that, he had the refined and honed desire. The dream was still in his heart.

He was of course quickly accepted and elected for a March 27, 2017 start date. {New groups start every 3 weeks, if you can believe that!} My boy had made the cut and was headed to "the Harvard of cooking schools". The countdown began. My mom heart got heavy. We ramped up our Catan games, knowing they would all too soon end. We shopped for some things. We got the financing in place. And on March 11, he and hubby headed out to Nashville to spend some time with our oldest son, and then from there Andrew would continue on to upstate New York for dorm check-in on March 26.

The picture below on the left is him the night before they were to head north in March. He was all smiles - so happy to finally be going, to be heading to his new beginning. I appreciated the irony of him wearing a Colorado shirt - a perfect farewell tribute to his old path - with the cheek to cheek smile a fitting accessory for his new adventure. And on the right, the one photo I have of him since March 27: his first day of class, clean shaven, in chef jacket and toque, for some reason serious as all get out, ready to head into the class kitchen. Right in front of my eyes, a chef in the making. I know he's doing well. I know he's showing up every day and giving it his all. I know he is making the cut.  

Making the Cut ~ Beginning Culinary School ~ March 2017

Sketch Credit: Scrapbook Generation

Paper: My Minds Eye

Title Font: Pacifico, Times New Roman

804 Miles from Awesome

  

I have had the rare, but somewhat annual, "snow day" here in North Texas, and am thankful for the free day to catch up on things. I have spent most of the day printing photos from 2012, digging out from the going under of my beloved ScrapbookPictures.com. I bought a personal printer when they folded, but unknowingly abandoned my systemic printing process, and figuring out what is what has been a two month long, slightly nightmarish process. Between the Oscars last night and today, I have printed out over 250 photos, and have had some good times strolling down memory lane. Spending time with my jpeg's is always a delight.

Not only did I have the delight of seeing my boys in the jpegs yesterday, my youngest was actually in town, and I able to see him briefly this weekend. He flew in Thursday night from Denver to be a student leader at the annual in-town retreat this past weekend for the student ministry he was part of while in school here. He is so funny. I got a call Thursday at work from him, which is rare. I could take the call, and so I did, and quickly fielded questions about baggage fees, baggage weight, and carry-ons. Now, he has flown many times before, but I guess he wanted to double-check, and honestly, it is nice to be needed for something once in awhile.

It made me realize that while he thinks he is grown-up, there is still a little bit of my boy there inside. He blew in like a whirlwind, and was out of here by Sunday evening. We basically saw him Thursday night, some on Friday, and then for about 3 hours on Sunday. Last night, Steve and I were talking about Andrew and his possibilities for summer jobs, and studying abroad next fall, and Steve said, "He amazes me with his follow through on research." Yes, we are finding that Andrew is like a dog with a bone when he latches onto an idea and gets excited. It is incredible to see how college is developing him.

He really is a passionate kid. His thoughts and emotions run deep, and while he is introverted, if you hit the right topic, he's right there with you, toe to toe, offering up intellectual insight, facts that he has memorized from who only knows where, and opinions that have been gelling in his introspective and multi-faceted mind. He is my Comic Book boy, but he is also my boy who has movie lines, music lyrics, anecdotes, and scripture memorized like nobody's business. 

As an preschooler, he was the one I couldn't find because he would have decided he was tired and put himself down for a nap. In elementary school, he was the compassionate, quiet child, always seeing an unmet need of another student and meeting it.  He was the student who always wore a belt with his jeans and loved his shirt tucked in, and wasn't afraid to wear cowboy boots with shorts. He's had his own style defined for quite some time, and he's confident enough to go with his gut at any given moment.

He takes a long time to reach a decision, but once it is made, you'd sooner climb Niagara Falls than change his mind. Oh, the things I have learned from this child! He makes me laugh, he makes me think, he makes me question life, he makes me cry, he makes me marvel, and yes, he has been known to make me yell. 

My boys are 16 months apart, and so when they were little, Steve and I tag-teamed them. For obvious reasons, I had the younger one, and I have so many fond memories of this little boy resting his head on my shoulder, needing to be loved. That same little boy would climb on my lap, hold my hand, seek me out in a crowd, checking on me to make sure I was okay.

I know, though at 6'2" he towers over me now, he is still that same little person inside - that same confident, quirky, sensitive, compassionate, intelligent, and opinionated child. And I'm so glad to be blessed as his mother. I think he's awesome. Each and every day. Most of those days are spent 804 miles away from me now. And when I am lucky enough that he is here with me, I get to be reminded of how incredible he is, and always has been. And that is awesome, too.

Awesome ~ Andrew Turns 18 ~ August 2013

Sketch Credit: Scrapbook Generation

Paper: Simple Stories

Title Font: Collegiate

Notebook Paper and Denim

I have tried to revisit in my mind the mental bookmark that segregates for me the beginning of my love affair with all things supply related. There is no watermark moment, no recalled genesis, no hallmark memory. I can simply remember that as long as I can remember, I have loved school supplies.

As a young child, we would head to Ronnie's Supermarket and pick up our supply list off the aisle end cap - that supply list having been typed on an old manual typewriter and run off via carbon paper. Remember that lovely cornflower blue ink? We would carry our supplies proudly home in big sturdy brown paper bags, lay them all out on the floor, carefully label them, and then, almost in a manner reserved for crown jewels, place them back inside the same brown bag where they would hold revered status until the bell rang on the first day of school. 

And we would carry them in to class in that same brown bag. $50 backpack? Not necessary. We were above knowing we needed one. And all year long, I took careful time with my supplies - never one to want to sharpen my crayons and face the jagged edge of the torn paper for the rest of the year, never one to mix colors of paint on the plastic palette, never one to just throw them at day's end into my desk. No sirree - I coddled them for the year, knowing that what was left over was mine to keep and could then be added to my private stash back at home.

And what were summers for, but playing school? As I think back on the cool of the mornings in the gulf summer heat, I am amazed to think that we played school in a garage with a door that never opened. We cleared a space and set up a desk area for 2-3 students, and we rotated who was teacher and who was student, using up our supplies left over from the grade we just finished, which, if we were lucky, included some extra worksheets that we never needed in "filler time". I loved playing school. I loved school. I loved the whole spectrum of it, the supplies just being the easiest outward manifestation, the one constant as you changed teachers and campuses. Give me a new pack of 64 crayons and watch me transcend time.

Fast forward to my early 30's, and see me with two young sons, and a corner in an upstairs retreat where we had craft supplies and a little oak table with 2 chairs. {Don't think I didn't wish I had that table and chairs back in the '70's in my garage!} We did arts and crafts with the boys as early as they could manage to move their fingers around on a piece of paper. I have piles and piles of childhood art around here, mocking me with its presence. I refuse to let it go just yet!

And read, oh, would we read. Many times it would be the same book over and over. I never knew the full measure of my husband's patience until the year that my oldest child asked him to read the same Dorling Kindersley bulldozer book every night. Now, these were photos of all kinds of machines, with descriptions of their name and purpose. No story here - just a machine encyclopedia if you will. Philip wore that book ragged and heaven help us if bedtime came and the bulldozer book was needing to be unearthed. 

Preschool time came around too soon for the boys and I, I guess. I don't know if it was the fashion of the day, or the fear of letting them go, or their desire to soak up everything and learn from me all I would impart...but some combination of any of that led me to a stint with homeschooling. I was not cut out for it. The boys were not cut out for it. Thankfully we all had sense enough to recognize that early on. What I remember fondly about the experience, though, are all the workbooks we bought and how fun it was to set up a school room in my own home for my sons, and see their little heads bent over that blonde oak table, pursuing the completion of some little assignment. This was definitely a new definition of school supplies for me!

When the boys began kindergarten, we lived in the valley at the very southern tip of Texas. Borders blended and societies merged, and all of the stores of McAllen served not only the citizens of McAllen, but also the needs of any visitors over from Mexico, in pursuit of goods not available to them at home. Translation: buy it when you see it, because it won't last long. I learned early to guess at what you needed, and buy extra, because by the time the teacher told you it was on "the list", it would no longer be on the shelves. 

We had one Target in town, south of our home, towards the border. You needed to go early in the morning for it to be clean, for the checkout lines to be tolerable, for the aisles to be maneuverable. There was no way, in this border town, I would ever even consider going in to the Walmart. No way. Target was my only option. So, when they set out the school supplies, we were there. The boys would pick out their folders, their spirals, their crayons, their map pencils, their scissors, their rulers, their pencils, their pens.

It was always so much fun to see the choices, to revel in the colors, to mark this year's trends based on the images on all the supplies. It was entertaining to watch them consider the choices, as if they were selecting a house or a car, weighing all the options, importing onto the array of supplies a value far beyond the price tag, ensuring they ended up with an assortment that did not match their brother's. No copy cats here! Get that individuality captured! The buggy would fill and we would head home with our new round of treasures. 

I will 'fess up. There were usually 1 or 2 or 7 things in the buggy for me as well. My husband learned early on that my brain requires an assortment of note pads, post-it notes, pens and spirals. Just because. After all, when the bell rang, it was a "new year" for me, too. I couldn't head into my volunteer meetings with last year's tool kit, could I? The travesty!

Home we three would head. Supplies divvied up onto the counter. Label maker pulled out. Backpack loaded. In July no less. What were we to do? The fun was in the selecting, the fun was in the waiting, the fun was in the going. We relished the entire process. My boys were always extremely eager for meet the teacher night, and the commencement of the school year. They were great little students and loved the social network of school as much as they adored their teachers and mastered their lessons.

When Texas launched tax free sales weekend, and Macy's matched their tax hiatus with back to school sales, we upped our school shopping to include clothes. We learned to go the night before and preview the choices. Some stores would set things to the side for me, ready for me on Friday morning to run in at opening bell and pay quickly and get out before the crowds descended. {Thanks Aeropostale - you done good by me.} Steve would always pick up the jeans at Macy's. Of course, he calls them denim. And he would let me know when the denim deals happened. I would let him know their sizes.

When the boy were in middle school, they began taking an interest in their clothes. By the time they graduated, I was out of the picture, with the exception of the photo on my debit card. They morphed from Aeropostale to Urban Outfitters and Pac Sun. I morphed from going to giving them a budget. I honestly didn't mind and I enjoyed seeing what treasures they came home with, albeit some of them looking like my definition of school clothes not so much. Denim? It still came from Macy's. We've had all sizes of Levi's in this house. You could measure the growth of the child by the change in that famous waistband tag.

When August 2013 rolled around, we were left with one child at home needing supplies. One child at home that does not like to shop. One child at home that is independent. One child at home that would rather not be seen in public with us unless it is at Chuy's for mexicana comida deluxe. We casually offered to Andrew a little excursion and nearly fell over when he agreed to go!

We headed to North Park mall quickly, before he changed his mind, in search of anything he would agree to let us buy. Said child not only dislikes shopping, at the time he disliked getting anything either. We settled on some jeans, er....denim, and we found some shirts he liked, and we even found some shoes. It was a wardrobe trifecta. Given he was in the spirit, we then headed to Target. Why put off to tomorrow what you can do today? With Andrew, we knew to strike while the iron is hot. A momentous end to a family tradition? #bullseye

Notebook paper? Check. Binder? Check. Red pens? Check. Last round of this shopping rodeo? Check, check, check. It was a sobering reality to be sure. Hard to believe my days of spirals and new pens and fun notebooks are over. Oh, wait. They're not. You might just find, if you know where to look, my private stash of school supplies. A part of me will always feel invigorated by "the start of school", and will soak in the new beginning of a season. New blue jeans, though, are optional. 


Back 2 School Shopping ~ Our Final Rodeo ~ August 2013

Sketch Credit: Scrapbook Generation http://scrapbookgeneration.com/index.php?route=product/category&path=213

Paper: Basic Grey, Lily Bee, Pink Paislee, Simple Stories

Font: Pacifico

I Wish I Could Turn Back Time

There is a lumbering 19-year-old boy, tossing and turning in his bed above the room in which I sit and write. As he begins the process of waking for the day that holds the driving off to college, it settles heavy on my heart that I won't sit here and be nudged by that creaking bed to be a little more quiet. That lumbering boy is like his mom, and his grandmother. He is an early riser and a light sleeper. I will miss that creaking bed, and I will miss that boy.

We ate dinner out last night. His pick. He's had a grand rodeo these last few months - eager parents proffering up any idealized moments, hoping to steal more of the borrowed time with their baby boy. As we sat at Pappasito's, I just watched him. And I listened to him. And I laughed at him. And it just hit me really hard. I am going to miss him. I am going to MISS him. 

I am going to miss him blowing through the door, with a bag of comic books in his hand. I am going to miss seeing his keys on the counter and his little gray Jetta in the drive. I am going to miss his witty comments, in every conversation we have, no matter the subject, time, or place. I am going to miss his competitive spirit and the joy of playing a game with him, win, lose, or draw. I am going to miss hearing him laugh. I am going to miss seeing him scowl. I am going to miss his stories.

Cher sings the song I Wish I Could Turn Back Time. The song is about a relationship gone wrong, and the verse lyrics don't apply at all...but I can hear her woeful singing of the refrain, and it echoes in the beating of my heart. No, I don't really wish I could turn back time. I know this is all normal. But, it sure seems to go by so very fast, and I wish I had more of our every day time together. 

This growing up phase is normal and natural, and kids get tall and teenager-y so we will recognize the need to slowly let them go and find their path. The fact that it is normal and natural, and that they are tall and teenager-y, do not make it any easier on a momma's heart.

Oh, yes. We will be able to turn up the music. Turn on the early morning news shows. No more jockeying in the driveway for space. No need to coordinate dinner plans or try desperately to find some groceries for our picky eater. No more messes on the counter. No going to work and coming home to the house looking different. Yes, yes, I get all of that.

And Thanksgiving will come soon enough. And for a few days we will rekindle our relationship and bask in the delight of our tall red-headed sons being home. And on the days in the middle, we will have our memories to help us connect. We will have our new lifestyle to give us hope. We will have new habits that hint at other, better, different days to come.

But, there will always be a part of me that remembers simple family celebrations like these, days that we were all together, days where life was golden, days where happy was a simple wish and a candle on a cake. I wish I could turn back time. If only in my mind.

Happy Birthday Andrew ~ Turning Sixteen ~ August 2011

Sketch Credit: Scrapbook Generation http://scrapbookgeneration.com/index.php?route=product/category&path=213

Paper: Simple Stories

Love This Memory of You

Andrew's always been my cuddle bear. When the boys were born so close together, it was an obvious, expected, and necessitated choice for Steve and I to tag team with them. Because a baby needs his mom, so much of Andrew's first year was spent in my lap, while Steve tended to toddler Philip. Whew. Some of those days were long and rough. I will always be incredibly thankful, though, that we had our babies back to back. It has gifted each of us, all four of us, in so many ways, and it created the fabric of our family.

But, I guess it's normal for a mom to be attached a little more in her heart to her baby. Even if the youngest child were identical to the oldest child, the mom is going to feel the emotion more as she goes through the last of everything. As fun and adventurous as the first of everything is, a woman is wired to be poignant and reminiscent, in my mind, anyway, as she finishes up things. I think, for those reasons, in my heart I have a unique bond with both boys. Philip was my introduction to everything and Andrew was my finale.

And, oh, how I loved elementary school with my boys. I was blessed to be able to be at home with the boys from Philip's birth up until Andrew began 6th grade. Yep. I was at every Christmas and Valentine party that occurred, and went on as many field trips as they would allow. So, Andrew's 5th grade year was my mom swan song - my last chance to do all of the fun things. Having a child simultaneously in 5th and a child in 6th, I knew there was no need for mom at the junior high school campus. And so, determinedly, I dug into 5th grade even more zealously than I imagined I could.

I was incredibly honored to be asked to be the 5th Grade Coordinator at the boys' elementary school, and I adored working with the three teachers Andrew had that last year. To this day, I keep up with his homeroom 5th grade teacher via Facebook and am totally reveling in watching her now raise three little punkin' heads. Meghan was a jewel and she just made the year so glorious for all of the kids. The fact that I had a VIP backstage pass was a bonus.

When we moved from the valley to Plano ISD in 2005, we all got an education. PISD definitely had a certain way that things worked. They had an extensive and interesting 5th grade curriculum. It makes for an amazing year for the kids, full of integrated learning units. We worked through Immigration Day and Colonial Week and Biography Night...and had fun all along the way. And one of the neatest things they do is to have a graduation celebration for each 5th grade class...and a reunion at the elementary school for the 12th grade graduating seniors. 

Because I was the 5th Grade Coordinator, I was up at the school many days and long hours. It was so wonderful to be such an integrated part of Andrew's final year of elementary school, my final year of elementary school. As I type this, I am awaiting Andrew's senior photo shoot pictures to appear in Drop Box. And so, as I looked at photos of my many layouts, and as I prepare to soon watch this baby boy of mine cross the stage, it seems natural to look back at this 2007 milestone and ponder graduation celebrations.

As I consider the 6'2" young man who has a black cap and gown hanging in the guest closet, I am drawn to the memory of this little boy. Andrew was always tender hearted to his classmates. He was the child whose best friend for the first four years of school was the sweet little boy who was so shy he did not speak. Andrew has always been accepting of all and even seeks out those that he feels need a little extra some something. Andrew is very loyal. His friend, pictured with him on the far right, ended up defeating him in the student council race, and Andrew shook it off and kept right on with the friendship.

This little boy heart was as sweet as he was shy. He would sit quietly, listening to it all, taking it all in, processing it...and add a comment when it was least expected, in the moment or days afterward. That little thinking boy scored a 29 on the ACT without cracking a book and can solve a Rubik's Cube in seconds. And he is still mildly shy...but he can and often does bring a room to laughter with a quick-witted retort to any kind of comment.

I love his story. All of it. It has been my pleasure to have a front row seat to every chapter. From his little head nestling against my neck, to his chubby hands bringing me flowers, to his tween body getting ice cream with me, to his tall lumbering frame sharing his comic book heroes with me. I have counted all of it joy. It has been my pleasure. It has been a celebration in my heart to have him in my life. 

In 5 weeks we will have our reunion at Hunt. I didn't go with Philip and he said they all asked about me. Who knew moms could go? And then in 6 weeks, we will have one more graduation ceremony with my Andrew. And I will spend the next 6 weeks smiling at this boy, remembering his story, cherishing all of the chapters, and loving how God has crafted him into the young man that he is. 

We will embrace this coming senior high graduation celebration and we will remember fondly this 5th grade graduation celebration, and we will work even harder to remember all the way back to his kindergarten graduation. And as we dream, we look forward to his someday college graduation. I do love this 5th grade memory of him. And I love all my memories of him.

Graduation Celebration ~ Andrew's 5th Grade Graduation ~ May 2007 

Sketch Credit: Scrapbook Generation http://scrapbookgeneration.com/index.php?route=product/category&path=213

Paper: October Afternoon

Fonts: Comic Sans, Pacifico

My Very Own MVP

I grew up in a conservative household where my sisters and I were not allowed to play sports. You know - the whole shorts thing. Yes, I am old. Yes, I was raised in the south. Yes, it's called The Bible Belt. {And I have another story that could be titled that, but it's for another day.} My sisters and I rocked along in a world full of music and fashion and TV shows, because, frankly, sports were off limits. I like to conveniently use that to this day to explain my loathing of all things exercise and fitness related. ;-)

But, when I 3 years and 5 days old, the Lord finally answered my father's fervent prayers and delivered a boy to our family. And the world shook and long-held mandates for us 3 girls slowly and silently shifted to make way for the boy. Now, the boy had all kinds of different rules. I think of all the distinctions, the one that got my goat the most was the fact that he was excused from KP. Why bring him into the loop, after all, when there were three of us girls and the rotation from washer to rinser to dryer was completed by our triune sisterhood? 

Dishes aside, there was one more thing that really set me off. The boy could play sports. Because he could wear shorts. I remember one heated discussion with the prevailing parental unit and then I gave up. Buried my beloved dreams of volleyball and relegated myself to the band unit, long polyester pants and all. Now, mind you, before I worked myself up to the discussion, I had watched the boy play several seasons of football and basketball with the Y.M.C.A. Should I have known by the M that I didn't stand a chance?

Thankfully, junior high and high school offered me many different outlets and I busied myself with part-time jobs, school newspaper and yearbook, and getting all A's in my accounting classes. Lord, I loved completing those ledger green worksheets. And band. Yes, five years of band. Meanwhile, the boy played sports all through elementary, junior high and most of high school. I was okay with missing his games for my activities and might have been known to pick up a shift or two at Ronnie's Supermarket if it helped my silent gender-biased athletic boycott. I graduated and went on to college and promptly purchased store-bought shorts and never looked back at the volleyball court. 

With our own children, we offered them the opportunity to try everything. I mean anything and everything they had an interest in. Art lessons. Gymnastics. Boy Scouts. Soccer. T-ball. Baseball. Awanas. Choir. Football. Guitar lessons. Drum lessons. Lacrosse. More art. And, like the Renaissance men that they are, they tried all of it, and pursued none of it for very long. I learned to live in the season they were in. I learned to not push my desires into their hearts. I learned to encourage. I learned to guide their interests, but not direct their interests. And I learned to take pictures when I could, because there was no guarantee for the next semester, the next season, the next set.

I will confess, though, the utter elation - and yes, shock! - in my heart when, in the very same year, both boys tried out for football. My boys are 16 months apart, so they were only ever one grade away in school. And football happened their 7th/8th grade year. For one glorious short season, I had the joy of going to two football games a week and cheering for my sons. They both did fantastic, considering that they had never truly played before that season. We were never one of those families that got up a flag football game at Thanksgiving, even though I secretly always yearned to be.

My youngest son is truly an athlete. He is quick to grasp a new sport and has always quickly and easily done well in any sport. My oldest does well in sports, too, but his learning and adaptability curve is slightly longer. He makes up for it, though, with his heart and drive. I enjoyed watching them both learn football in their shared inaugural year, seeing how their skill sets and their personalities crafted them to become different players. And, I was not surprised when my youngest signed up to play football again in 8th grade. Imagine my giddiness over back-to-back seasons of being a football mom!

He enjoyed being part of a team. He was quick to listen to the coaches. He caught on to the plays. He was a determined little guy, set on tackling his opponent and getting his assigned point man on the other team. He truly had an authentic, all out hustle. I loved sitting in the stands. I could always easily spot both of my boys - this may sound silly - by their legs and shoes. There was just a look to this mom about their legs and shoes that made me easily recognize them on the field when helmets blurred and jersey numbers weren't visible.

I had two glorious years as a football mom. I took in all the games, sitting in the September heat and the October wind and the November chill. I bought the stadium popcorn. Steve picked us up stadium seats. I relegated a blanket to the cargo bay of my SUV for the unexpected - or expected -  chilly evenings. I cheered. I memorized the jersey numbers of friends' children. I supported the halftime programs and smiled at the cheerleader moms. I invited grandparents up to watch games. I bought a good zoom lens and took tons of photos. I was living large in the land of Friday night lights. I didn't mind at all that my football mom games were on Tuesdays or Thursdays. I was just happy to have a real reason to sit in the stands.

And what a thrill to watch my boy go in play after play for two seasons and do his best. His team wasn't a winning team either year - not in 7th, or in 8th. He wasn't on the A team either. No matter. We held our B team chins up proudly and enjoyed the equality of the B team. No child prodigies out there to steal the show. They were all in it to win it. 

I still remember that little number 55, standing on the sidelines as close to coach as he could get, ready to go in when called. And no matter what the scoreboard said, he was always a winner to me. And I was happy with the secret in my heart that he was my very own MVP.

Authentic All Out Hustle ~ Andrew 8th Grade Football ~ Fall 2009

Sketch Credit: Scrapbook Generation http://scrapbookgeneration.com/index.php?route=product/category&path=213

Paper: We R Memory Keepers