Merry Christmas to you ALL!
To check out a few of our adventures click here. Many more photos to come soon...
To check out a few of our adventures click here. Many more photos to come soon...
Monday, December 28, 2009
Wednesday, December 23, 2009
My Teenage Obsession Revived
I dug waaayyyy back in the deep dark depths of my closet today… the place where I keep those items that I just might need someday but haven’t touched in ten years…
Today I needed to find some once beloved and well used items that I knew better than rid myself of. I dusted off my old ski boots, squeezed into my snow pants from high school (I am so proud of that feat), discovered that the lining of my goggles had literally disintegrated into a fine black dust (I was horrified to count the years I have stored these items), donned an ancient pair of waterproof gloves, and eventually set out to hit the slopes for the first time in way, way too long…
My initial whim was aimed at learning to snowboard with Riley. But my absence on the mountain found me reminiscing about the days when I skied without fear, my focus intent on a perfect parallel, legs burning as I ground the edges of my skis deep into the snow, the wind at my face, the thrill of the ride, the simple euphoria that shrouded even a far from perfect run and found me always yearning for one more... one better, one harder, one perfect run.
Could I really find all that again after all these years? I had to try… I risked skipping way too many days in high school to now so easily turn my back on this teenage obsession and venture into the unknown territory of snow boarders.
Well, I did toy with all those pent up emotions, but… I also had no idea how I was going to teach Hope to snowboard if the only way I could make it down the mountain was sliding on my derriere.
My countless hours on the Mountain (yes, when I should have been in high school) paid off. Despite my defunct fixation with skiing in recent years the knack was easily resurrected and some seriously fond memories were revived the mere moment I arrived on the mountain once again today.
Riley went snowboarding… confirming my suspicion that I might just fail miserably on a snowboard. Riley has no fear of speed, he is conditioned to blows and he is determined to learn to board – he of course, had very little trouble getting down the mountain and he progressively got better – making it down three different runs without falling. The lifts were a whole other ball game… apparently it’s much more difficult to exit the lift on a snowboard.
He also successfully avoided my camera.
I secured Hope’s skis and sent her out on the bunny hill to test her level of fear. We were on the lift in a matter of minutes, Hope proclaiming her desire to find the boys and ski along side them.
On the lift I prepared Hope with instructions for getting off… scoot to the edge of the seat, remove your death grip from the pole, ski tips up and simply stand up when I tell you to…
Hope decided she didn’t want to get of the lift anymore but there was one little problem – we were already on the lift. I reassured her that it’s ok to fall when we get off and they will stop the lift for us if I wave my hand…
She cut me off and told me point blank that she was just too scared to jump that far down!
Hmmm… I guess I forgot to tell her about the part where we don’t get off until we reach the landing. Poor girl! She thought we were jumping. But her fear of jumping made the actual descent back onto the ground much more appealing and she scooted off and skied away like a little pro all day long.
Hope spent the first half of the day skiing down the hill between my legs. Then spent two runs going down by herself before she opted for poles and put many adults to shame shortly before we called it a day.
We already have plans to go again…
I’ve missed this mountain extravaganza and I've let a once dear obsession become something of only a vague memory recently – but I am back and I am thankful this mountain is too far away for Riley to spend his school days on a board :)
Today I needed to find some once beloved and well used items that I knew better than rid myself of. I dusted off my old ski boots, squeezed into my snow pants from high school (I am so proud of that feat), discovered that the lining of my goggles had literally disintegrated into a fine black dust (I was horrified to count the years I have stored these items), donned an ancient pair of waterproof gloves, and eventually set out to hit the slopes for the first time in way, way too long…
My initial whim was aimed at learning to snowboard with Riley. But my absence on the mountain found me reminiscing about the days when I skied without fear, my focus intent on a perfect parallel, legs burning as I ground the edges of my skis deep into the snow, the wind at my face, the thrill of the ride, the simple euphoria that shrouded even a far from perfect run and found me always yearning for one more... one better, one harder, one perfect run.
Could I really find all that again after all these years? I had to try… I risked skipping way too many days in high school to now so easily turn my back on this teenage obsession and venture into the unknown territory of snow boarders.
Well, I did toy with all those pent up emotions, but… I also had no idea how I was going to teach Hope to snowboard if the only way I could make it down the mountain was sliding on my derriere.
My countless hours on the Mountain (yes, when I should have been in high school) paid off. Despite my defunct fixation with skiing in recent years the knack was easily resurrected and some seriously fond memories were revived the mere moment I arrived on the mountain once again today.
Riley went snowboarding… confirming my suspicion that I might just fail miserably on a snowboard. Riley has no fear of speed, he is conditioned to blows and he is determined to learn to board – he of course, had very little trouble getting down the mountain and he progressively got better – making it down three different runs without falling. The lifts were a whole other ball game… apparently it’s much more difficult to exit the lift on a snowboard.
He also successfully avoided my camera.
I secured Hope’s skis and sent her out on the bunny hill to test her level of fear. We were on the lift in a matter of minutes, Hope proclaiming her desire to find the boys and ski along side them.
On the lift I prepared Hope with instructions for getting off… scoot to the edge of the seat, remove your death grip from the pole, ski tips up and simply stand up when I tell you to…
Hope decided she didn’t want to get of the lift anymore but there was one little problem – we were already on the lift. I reassured her that it’s ok to fall when we get off and they will stop the lift for us if I wave my hand…
She cut me off and told me point blank that she was just too scared to jump that far down!
Hmmm… I guess I forgot to tell her about the part where we don’t get off until we reach the landing. Poor girl! She thought we were jumping. But her fear of jumping made the actual descent back onto the ground much more appealing and she scooted off and skied away like a little pro all day long.
Hope spent the first half of the day skiing down the hill between my legs. Then spent two runs going down by herself before she opted for poles and put many adults to shame shortly before we called it a day.
We already have plans to go again…
I’ve missed this mountain extravaganza and I've let a once dear obsession become something of only a vague memory recently – but I am back and I am thankful this mountain is too far away for Riley to spend his school days on a board :)
Friday, December 11, 2009
No Chance
I had a favorite pair of underwear… a timeless classic that had served its duty well. They were pink, cotton and unbelievably comfortable (a rare find for those with a well rounded derrière).
They just so happen to say “NO CHANCE” across the buttocks, which I found hysterical and made them all that more enjoyable to wear…
Despite their perfect fit and highly amusing implications the days were numbered for this beloved pair of underwear.
No, they have not exactly reached their natural end of life – they are not starting to unravel.
My butt has not expanded… at least not that I’m undeniably aware of.
Hope learned how to read…
After countless questions as to the meaning of this message displayed across my behind (that I unsuccessfully dodged) Hope proclaimed her desire to obtain her own pair of “no chance” panties.
I can only imagine the countless teachers, day care workers, students, friends, parents, store clerks, etc. that now know I own this pair of underwear.
I’m currently trying to dissuade her from asking Santa for this particular gift.
Aren’t kids supposed to wait until first grade to read things like that??
Perhaps I should not have been prancing around in my underwear…
Either way, I must retire this old favorite and trust that this memory is deemed insignificant, easily forgotten and is not later readily recalled (to Hope’s horror) and reminisced about (to my utter dismay) 20 years down the road at a family gathering…
There is no chance of that happening, right?
They just so happen to say “NO CHANCE” across the buttocks, which I found hysterical and made them all that more enjoyable to wear…
Despite their perfect fit and highly amusing implications the days were numbered for this beloved pair of underwear.
No, they have not exactly reached their natural end of life – they are not starting to unravel.
My butt has not expanded… at least not that I’m undeniably aware of.
Hope learned how to read…
After countless questions as to the meaning of this message displayed across my behind (that I unsuccessfully dodged) Hope proclaimed her desire to obtain her own pair of “no chance” panties.
I can only imagine the countless teachers, day care workers, students, friends, parents, store clerks, etc. that now know I own this pair of underwear.
I’m currently trying to dissuade her from asking Santa for this particular gift.
Aren’t kids supposed to wait until first grade to read things like that??
Perhaps I should not have been prancing around in my underwear…
Either way, I must retire this old favorite and trust that this memory is deemed insignificant, easily forgotten and is not later readily recalled (to Hope’s horror) and reminisced about (to my utter dismay) 20 years down the road at a family gathering…
There is no chance of that happening, right?
Scooby Boobs and Rudolphs
We breed some pretty ingenious creatures around here...
Nico runs around the house and begs to watch "Scooby BOOBS" all day long. Roger swells with pride each time his youngest son pronounces his infatuation with boobs (even if he does really mean to say Scooby Doo).
Hope constantly demands we watch the latest gymnastic technique she has mastered - her "Rudolphs". I don't have the heart to tell her it's actually called a round-off.
How monotinous our days would be without Scooby Boobs and Rudolphs...
Nico runs around the house and begs to watch "Scooby BOOBS" all day long. Roger swells with pride each time his youngest son pronounces his infatuation with boobs (even if he does really mean to say Scooby Doo).
Hope constantly demands we watch the latest gymnastic technique she has mastered - her "Rudolphs". I don't have the heart to tell her it's actually called a round-off.
How monotinous our days would be without Scooby Boobs and Rudolphs...
Thursday, December 10, 2009
Bewildered Bragging
Perfectly pointed toes, fascinating flexibility, beautiful bridges, heavenly headstands and handstands, captivating cartwheels, brilliant balancing on the beam, and a gleaming gymnast may have rightfully earned Hope the title of Hot Shot but it’s also boosted her confidence (not that it was suffering to begin with) and strengthened her determination.
And she is clearly vocalizing her desires…
And she is clearly vocalizing her desires…
She vehemently refused to attend Tap/Jazz class this week, insisting she was bored, contending she was far too advanced and asserting her position by adamantly demanding she be placed in another advanced class. I watched her stroll confidently through the gym demonstrating her skills and relaying her demand to any teacher she could corner – all while I sat in the office digesting this news with the dance and gymnastic directors.
Despite all my pleading I simply could not convince her to stay in tap – even for one last day.
To my utter bewilderment I have learned that Hope is a bit of a super star at this academy. Teachers are vying for her to join their classes and they are willing to bend over backwards to keep this little girl happy and show off her talents.
It’s now almost a bit of a competition… Hope has been asked to join the elite. She will spend some time trying out a variety of classes to find what suits her best. Hope has the ultimate say and all ears are alert anxiously awaiting the news of her decision…
Hope is endearing, she’s full of spunk, she obviously has flair (perhaps she was switched at birth) and she certainly has a following of fans that want to see where she will take this forte. And her fan club is going to great lengths to keep her happy and recruit her talent.
To think I was beside myself with worry over transitioning Hope into the academy for after school care this year. Now I just worry where what she has up her sleeve next…
My Two Boys
Although these two boys entered this world over a decade apart I think they're awfully fond of each other...
Until Riley is asked to babysit... the bond begins to crumble, all the adorableness of a toddler fades as soon as the chore begins.
Until Riley is asked to babysit... the bond begins to crumble, all the adorableness of a toddler fades as soon as the chore begins.
Hard Labor, Hard Lessons and Finally Hardwoods
This, my friends, is a welcome sight – after many years of planning, certain carefully worded nagging, a few heartless threats, a lot of hard work, some generous help from a couple of faithful family members, particularly stressful, irritable days that we’ll never get back - our dining room hardwood floor has finally became a reality!
It was worth the wait… Nico finally has his own room and we have reclaimed our office within the last bit of space amongst our congested home.
With Grandma’s dining room furniture passed down for a new family to enjoy, it was finally time to rid ourselves of the last bit of original, decidedly dreary, dreadfully dingy, gray carpet.
Choosing pre-finished hardwoods was a strategic move. Remembering the long hours of labor required to meticulously install our family room floor left us dreading another project so arduous and hence found us repeatedly procrastinating and frequently tinkering with alternate, easier solutions, all the while simply delaying the inevitable.
My insistence prompted Roger to eventually agree to pre-finished hardwoods. More appealing than carpet and seemingly easier to install than unfinished hardwoods we felt confident in our selection – after all, we have two young children now and simply don’t have the time, money or patience to deal with all that comes with unfinished hardwoods. Pre-finished hardwoods clearly appeared to be the next best alternative.
The acquisition of the materials alone proved to be no easy task. I unsuccessfully bribed Nico with 32 suckers during the selection process of an overwhelming array of prefinished hardwoods. I ended up sitting in the car with a screaming two year not really giving a damn about what wood we ended up with and desperately wondering how we were going to survive the countless hours of installation.
But come hell or high water our undeniably dull and definitely dirty gray carpet was leaving once and for all. Very slowly we began to make some progress on the floor. The carpet was removed. The subfloor was replaced. The area was prepped with a moisture barrier. With only a few holes in the wall and a broken outlet the prep work was complete and the wood installation finally began.
Pre-finished hardwoods may reduce the dust and minimize the cost but their allure of easy installation is false advertising when two young children have deemed themselves as eager assistants. Despite my generous bribing which turned into stony threats and a few old fashioned screaming matches Hope and Nico refused to steer clear of the work area. The noisy nailer was simply too much of a curiosity and unfurnished wide open area proved to be too much of a temptation – they simply could not stay away. They claimed the unfinished room as their own rotunda coloring all over the moisture barrier to properly profess their ownership.
Feeling an overwhelming desire to utilize the air compressor to nail my children to the couch and keep them out of our way while working I sought relief from these unruly distractions and enlisted the help of my trusty sister Sarah. While tucking Hope in bed after a particularly grueling day she informed me that I managed to ruin her entire day. In my mature motherly way I retaliated that she successfully spoiled my less than productive day as well. Realizing I had no option but to finish the floor at this point but admitting my scare tactics to steer clear were unsuccessful and recognizing this project was bringing out a less than stellar side of me I admitted defeat and called Sarah to the rescue. Fearing that my children permanently impair my sanity Sarah offered to take the kids to McDonald’s Playland and with an extra pair of hands Warren, Roger and I were left to finish the floor.
This almost finished, albeit delightful floor, speaks to my persistence, Roger’s willingness to concede and compromise, hours of grueling work, the generosity and dependability of a sister and brother-in-law and the resilience of children (despite my brutal demands for compliant behavior during installation they appear to be no worse for the wear).
This is a room where we can finally delight in our perseverance – we have freed up our kitchen counter from endless piles of paper, we can file countless records in proper folders, we now organize mail in structured bins, we can print homework without searching for lost cords and rearranging printers and computers, and the littlest Gronke’s have plenty of room to roam freely, performing acrobatic stunts and emptying toy bins now devoid of tireless threats or unsettled bribes from stressed out, over committed parents.
In the end I have relinquished my duties and will not be making any more strategic pronouncements that involve laborious endeavors which require complete concentration and uninterrupted efforts until the littlest Gronke’s are much, much older. All future projects will be assessed, approved and prioritized based on our ability to outsource the labor!
It was worth the wait… Nico finally has his own room and we have reclaimed our office within the last bit of space amongst our congested home.With Grandma’s dining room furniture passed down for a new family to enjoy, it was finally time to rid ourselves of the last bit of original, decidedly dreary, dreadfully dingy, gray carpet.
Choosing pre-finished hardwoods was a strategic move. Remembering the long hours of labor required to meticulously install our family room floor left us dreading another project so arduous and hence found us repeatedly procrastinating and frequently tinkering with alternate, easier solutions, all the while simply delaying the inevitable.
My insistence prompted Roger to eventually agree to pre-finished hardwoods. More appealing than carpet and seemingly easier to install than unfinished hardwoods we felt confident in our selection – after all, we have two young children now and simply don’t have the time, money or patience to deal with all that comes with unfinished hardwoods. Pre-finished hardwoods clearly appeared to be the next best alternative.
The acquisition of the materials alone proved to be no easy task. I unsuccessfully bribed Nico with 32 suckers during the selection process of an overwhelming array of prefinished hardwoods. I ended up sitting in the car with a screaming two year not really giving a damn about what wood we ended up with and desperately wondering how we were going to survive the countless hours of installation.
But come hell or high water our undeniably dull and definitely dirty gray carpet was leaving once and for all. Very slowly we began to make some progress on the floor. The carpet was removed. The subfloor was replaced. The area was prepped with a moisture barrier. With only a few holes in the wall and a broken outlet the prep work was complete and the wood installation finally began.
Pre-finished hardwoods may reduce the dust and minimize the cost but their allure of easy installation is false advertising when two young children have deemed themselves as eager assistants. Despite my generous bribing which turned into stony threats and a few old fashioned screaming matches Hope and Nico refused to steer clear of the work area. The noisy nailer was simply too much of a curiosity and unfurnished wide open area proved to be too much of a temptation – they simply could not stay away. They claimed the unfinished room as their own rotunda coloring all over the moisture barrier to properly profess their ownership.
Feeling an overwhelming desire to utilize the air compressor to nail my children to the couch and keep them out of our way while working I sought relief from these unruly distractions and enlisted the help of my trusty sister Sarah. While tucking Hope in bed after a particularly grueling day she informed me that I managed to ruin her entire day. In my mature motherly way I retaliated that she successfully spoiled my less than productive day as well. Realizing I had no option but to finish the floor at this point but admitting my scare tactics to steer clear were unsuccessful and recognizing this project was bringing out a less than stellar side of me I admitted defeat and called Sarah to the rescue. Fearing that my children permanently impair my sanity Sarah offered to take the kids to McDonald’s Playland and with an extra pair of hands Warren, Roger and I were left to finish the floor.
This almost finished, albeit delightful floor, speaks to my persistence, Roger’s willingness to concede and compromise, hours of grueling work, the generosity and dependability of a sister and brother-in-law and the resilience of children (despite my brutal demands for compliant behavior during installation they appear to be no worse for the wear).
This is a room where we can finally delight in our perseverance – we have freed up our kitchen counter from endless piles of paper, we can file countless records in proper folders, we now organize mail in structured bins, we can print homework without searching for lost cords and rearranging printers and computers, and the littlest Gronke’s have plenty of room to roam freely, performing acrobatic stunts and emptying toy bins now devoid of tireless threats or unsettled bribes from stressed out, over committed parents.
In the end I have relinquished my duties and will not be making any more strategic pronouncements that involve laborious endeavors which require complete concentration and uninterrupted efforts until the littlest Gronke’s are much, much older. All future projects will be assessed, approved and prioritized based on our ability to outsource the labor!
Thursday, December 3, 2009
Hot Shot
Seeing as Hope spends most of her waking hours standing on her head, balancing effortlessly, performing unbelievable stunts (like the splits) in mid air and ultimately pushing herself up into a handstand it should come as no surprise that she has officially been invited to join the Hot Shots… an accelerate class for the youngest gymnasts who have displayed mind boggling skills and astounding progress in just a few short weeks.
Gaining entry into the Hot Shot club has only fueled Hope’s determination and has her bursting with pride.
But I understand her swollen ego. Under the false allusion that I had been deemed a Hot Girl I found myself exuding an inflated self esteem and feeling jubilant to have been deemed one of the elite.
Of course, my fantasy was brusquely episodic and I became a thirty something average Mom again reeling in my ignorance and despising my ordinary character.
But Hope has earned her Hot Shot title and although we question their choice in this selected label we are proud of our Baby Girl beyond what words can convey and we will allow her proudly taunt her title and demand a new level of respect for the time being.
How much harm can be done with this little confidence booster? (That’s a rhetorical question – please do not attempt to answer this for me…)
The time will inevitably arrive when Hope is humbled and we may regret our decision to allow her to become engrossed in her accomplishments but right now we are fascinated with her persistence, we are motivated by her determination and we found it bewildering (albeit hysterical) when, after being told by an 8 year old boy that she was so good at hip hop – the best he’s ever seen, she nonchalantly replied (while skipping out to the car), “I know!”
I may never be a Hot Girl but I can live vicariously through my Hot Shot.
Gaining entry into the Hot Shot club has only fueled Hope’s determination and has her bursting with pride.
But I understand her swollen ego. Under the false allusion that I had been deemed a Hot Girl I found myself exuding an inflated self esteem and feeling jubilant to have been deemed one of the elite.
Of course, my fantasy was brusquely episodic and I became a thirty something average Mom again reeling in my ignorance and despising my ordinary character.
But Hope has earned her Hot Shot title and although we question their choice in this selected label we are proud of our Baby Girl beyond what words can convey and we will allow her proudly taunt her title and demand a new level of respect for the time being.
How much harm can be done with this little confidence booster? (That’s a rhetorical question – please do not attempt to answer this for me…)
The time will inevitably arrive when Hope is humbled and we may regret our decision to allow her to become engrossed in her accomplishments but right now we are fascinated with her persistence, we are motivated by her determination and we found it bewildering (albeit hysterical) when, after being told by an 8 year old boy that she was so good at hip hop – the best he’s ever seen, she nonchalantly replied (while skipping out to the car), “I know!”
I may never be a Hot Girl but I can live vicariously through my Hot Shot.
Thursday, November 26, 2009
We Often Wonder Where our Children Came From…
When they are persistent, determined and athletic or coordinated we wonder if they were switched at birth. When they argue and refuse to concede or cooperate we speculate that siblings have influenced their behavior. When they are particularly challenging we assume that we unknowingly and unintentionally bestowed irreparable damage based on our naïve, fly-by-the-seat-of-our-pants parenting. When we are utterly befuddled by their behavior we question if they are aliens from outer space.
When they are downright naughty we blame each other’s inherent personality traits.
When Nico ran from the room crying and seeking solitude in his bedroom where he could contemplate the cruelty of his misunderstood little world – ruefully refusing unauthorized entry, preferring to allow his emotions to flow uninhibited in seclusion (all a reaction from having a remote control seized from his curious little hands) Roger suggested I would be better equipped to deal with the emotional struggles currently overwhelming our two year old.
I cautiously considered the underlying connotation of his recommendation.
I am emotional. I wear my heart on my sleeve. My feelings are easily bruised. I shrewdly allude to my annoyances and I clearly convey my anger. I stew until I am emotionally exhausted and I resort to emotional isolation until I am ready to forgive.
Yes, I do understand Nico’s emotional turmoil.
But I am also ruthless.
Feeling battered and defeated after arguing for hours with Hope - this girl who is relentless, persistent, stubborn and genuinely loves to argue simply for the sake of arguing and has mastered the art of wearing down her opponent to the point of submission – I pondered my options as I watched Hope stomp through the house justifying her actions, reiterating her stance and negotiating her privileges.
I casually indicated that Roger should go deal with his daughter.
We know all too well, but often refuse to admit, exactly how these children came to be.
When they are downright naughty we blame each other’s inherent personality traits.
When Nico ran from the room crying and seeking solitude in his bedroom where he could contemplate the cruelty of his misunderstood little world – ruefully refusing unauthorized entry, preferring to allow his emotions to flow uninhibited in seclusion (all a reaction from having a remote control seized from his curious little hands) Roger suggested I would be better equipped to deal with the emotional struggles currently overwhelming our two year old.
I cautiously considered the underlying connotation of his recommendation.
I am emotional. I wear my heart on my sleeve. My feelings are easily bruised. I shrewdly allude to my annoyances and I clearly convey my anger. I stew until I am emotionally exhausted and I resort to emotional isolation until I am ready to forgive.
Yes, I do understand Nico’s emotional turmoil.
But I am also ruthless.
Feeling battered and defeated after arguing for hours with Hope - this girl who is relentless, persistent, stubborn and genuinely loves to argue simply for the sake of arguing and has mastered the art of wearing down her opponent to the point of submission – I pondered my options as I watched Hope stomp through the house justifying her actions, reiterating her stance and negotiating her privileges.
I casually indicated that Roger should go deal with his daughter.
We know all too well, but often refuse to admit, exactly how these children came to be.
Wednesday, November 11, 2009
Fifteen
My sweet, sweet firstborn, who I still consider my baby but has grown up all too fast and now stands taller than me, turned 15 on Sunday.
No, I do not feel old because I am still very young at heart (and I apparently look to be only 26 or so).
Nor do I mourn for the years when Riley was just a cuddly babe who watched the world around him in wonder and constantly delighted us with his new discoveries or his recently mastered skills.
Those are all precious memories that I will cherish forever…
But I am content with my reality now and while I will always love to reminisce on Riley’s early years I wouldn’t alter the path we meandered and the memories that we made that find us where we are today.
I was a young naïve first time mother when Riley was born. I know I’ve made some mistakes. I’m sure Riley has also stumbled a time or two himself. But I will never, ever forget the unmistakable, almost frightening realization of true unconditional love that overcame me when Riley was placed in my arms for the very first time. This was a love I would die for, a life I repeatedly promised to always put first, a mind I pledged to help reach its full potential and a heart I assured to guide with love and respect.
I couldn’t remember my life before this amazing miracle of my firstborn. I couldn’t picture the day he turned 15 and I couldn’t fathom loving this babe anymore than I already did. As unbelievable as it seems Riley turned 15 and my love, respect and admiration for my firstborn only continues to grow. He surprises me with his sweetness, I am proud of his many accomplishments, I’m quite sure he’s the most handsome 15 year old in the world and I absolutely love who Riley has become.
I no longer obsess over every cry or worry about when he last ate, I don’t pick out his clothes, I am not obliged to fight his battles and always make things right. Riley has reached the age of independence. He is in control of his life. He now has the freedom, the knowledge and the maturity to make his own path in life, define his own style and develop his own dreams. It’s extremely satisfying to watch him rely on lessons learned as he moves forward deciding each road to travel.
I’m sure the next few years will bring some stressful moments when he undoubtedly loses sight of his path and occasionally meanders off course. But the best lessons learned now are those he will experience himself. I will always be there to provide guidance and assistance when he needs my support. I will always love him unconditionally regardless of his choices.
But right now I am simply and thoroughly enjoying 15.
Riley’s personality is charming, his happiness is contagious, his love is sincere, his laughter is infectious, his outlook on life is untainted, his mind is open and bright, his forgiveness comes naturally, his responsibility is blossoming, his independence is a welcome advantage, his helpfulness is much appreciated, and his gratefulness never ceases to amaze me.
Surely you can see why I love, admire, respect and cherish my firstborn more and more each and every day.
No, I do not feel old because I am still very young at heart (and I apparently look to be only 26 or so).
Nor do I mourn for the years when Riley was just a cuddly babe who watched the world around him in wonder and constantly delighted us with his new discoveries or his recently mastered skills.
Those are all precious memories that I will cherish forever…
But I am content with my reality now and while I will always love to reminisce on Riley’s early years I wouldn’t alter the path we meandered and the memories that we made that find us where we are today.
I was a young naïve first time mother when Riley was born. I know I’ve made some mistakes. I’m sure Riley has also stumbled a time or two himself. But I will never, ever forget the unmistakable, almost frightening realization of true unconditional love that overcame me when Riley was placed in my arms for the very first time. This was a love I would die for, a life I repeatedly promised to always put first, a mind I pledged to help reach its full potential and a heart I assured to guide with love and respect.
I couldn’t remember my life before this amazing miracle of my firstborn. I couldn’t picture the day he turned 15 and I couldn’t fathom loving this babe anymore than I already did. As unbelievable as it seems Riley turned 15 and my love, respect and admiration for my firstborn only continues to grow. He surprises me with his sweetness, I am proud of his many accomplishments, I’m quite sure he’s the most handsome 15 year old in the world and I absolutely love who Riley has become.
I no longer obsess over every cry or worry about when he last ate, I don’t pick out his clothes, I am not obliged to fight his battles and always make things right. Riley has reached the age of independence. He is in control of his life. He now has the freedom, the knowledge and the maturity to make his own path in life, define his own style and develop his own dreams. It’s extremely satisfying to watch him rely on lessons learned as he moves forward deciding each road to travel.
I’m sure the next few years will bring some stressful moments when he undoubtedly loses sight of his path and occasionally meanders off course. But the best lessons learned now are those he will experience himself. I will always be there to provide guidance and assistance when he needs my support. I will always love him unconditionally regardless of his choices.
But right now I am simply and thoroughly enjoying 15.
Riley’s personality is charming, his happiness is contagious, his love is sincere, his laughter is infectious, his outlook on life is untainted, his mind is open and bright, his forgiveness comes naturally, his responsibility is blossoming, his independence is a welcome advantage, his helpfulness is much appreciated, and his gratefulness never ceases to amaze me.
Surely you can see why I love, admire, respect and cherish my firstborn more and more each and every day.
Tuesday, November 10, 2009
Men of Few Words
I am a chatter box. I can keep you on the phone until 1:00 a.m. – even after repeatedly promising to release your weary ears 20 times. I frequently wear out my welcome with words (whether it is a friendly phone call, an enlightening lecture, some unsolicited advice, etc.) – I have an opinion that simply must be heard and I have so many words that elaborately must be spoken! I would apologize to all you innocent recipients of my blabbering but my apology would inevitably turn out to be a justification of my actions and once again, I would use far too many words to merely apologize.
I am a talker – something I most certainly did not inherit from my father. I learned early on when Dad spoke you listened. He may have little to say but when he speaks his words are meticulously selected to convey his point, his meaning is clear, his mind is intelligent, his message provokes consideration and his communication is impeccably delivered. As children we could so easily be stopped dead in our tracks with a few select words uttered from our father. Our well-intentioned mother could rant and rave all day without one word infiltrating our hot headed little brains but when Dad told us we were acting like a bunch of wild hyenas or he threatened to tin us and put us in an oil can we admitted defeat and sullenly meandered onto other more appropriate behaviors.
To my adult minded dismay I realize now that when Mom redirected our behavior we found all remote loop holes in her choice of words and adamantly pointed them out spurring our momentum, resulting in rambunctious behavior and ultimate defiance that could unravel the sanity of a well-trained psychologist. I’m afraid that we may all have been willing participants in these ruthless activities that may just send my Mother into dementia as she ages. But when Dad was around he always came to Mom’s defense and temporarily made us realize the error in our ways (using less than 5 words) and we would momentarily set out to make things right.
Why this disparity? I may never know for sure but I’m guessing it has something to do our inherent manipulative nature and Mom’s willingness to divulge the reasons behind the rules, the consequences resulting from our behavior, the lessons learned from our actions, the role we played in our choices, and the emotions that ensued based on our conduct – all logic based analysis that we could ultimately manipulate to our devious benefit. Dad taught us obedience and respect, plain and simple, using very few words, leaving very little room for us to employ our manipulative tactics. They perfected a fine balance raising four unruly girls.
While I may be more inclined to blurt out nearly every thought that forms in my head Riley has most certainly inherited his quiet nature from my Father.
The freshman football coach spent a few minutes reflecting on the strengths of each player at the end of season party – when it came around to Riley it was no surprise he received the award for the man with the fewest words. Riley listens attentively, he nods in acceptance to instructions, he follows directions without an argument and he absorbs constructive criticism without any back talk. The coaches could count his words spoken all season on one hand and what may have seemed like silent defiance in the beginning was quickly recognized for superb self restraint which was demonstrated in his uncanny ability to simply listen and perform – all without any discussion.
These men of few words are not necessarily shy. They are witty, intelligent and well spoken. They also have solid opinions and strong voices. But for the most part they listen, they absorb, they contemplate and then they act accordingly. They simply keep superfluous chit chat at a minimum.
You catch these two in rare mood or a passionate conversation and they will talk like yours truly. They have my full undivided attention during these moments – the conversations are stimulating, their opinions are worth considering, and more often than not I am left with advice or lessons learned that only these men of few words can provide. Despite their age difference these two have more in common than most people realize. They keep our rants in check, they often leave us wondering what’s on their minds and they occasionally have us yearning for more of their simple, albeit brilliant, insight into this complicated world.
When they time is right they will always divulge their secrets – until then the idle chit chat and deep discussions are left up to us girls. We all live up to these roles – none of us ever disappoint… a fine balance perfected by all.
I am a talker – something I most certainly did not inherit from my father. I learned early on when Dad spoke you listened. He may have little to say but when he speaks his words are meticulously selected to convey his point, his meaning is clear, his mind is intelligent, his message provokes consideration and his communication is impeccably delivered. As children we could so easily be stopped dead in our tracks with a few select words uttered from our father. Our well-intentioned mother could rant and rave all day without one word infiltrating our hot headed little brains but when Dad told us we were acting like a bunch of wild hyenas or he threatened to tin us and put us in an oil can we admitted defeat and sullenly meandered onto other more appropriate behaviors.
To my adult minded dismay I realize now that when Mom redirected our behavior we found all remote loop holes in her choice of words and adamantly pointed them out spurring our momentum, resulting in rambunctious behavior and ultimate defiance that could unravel the sanity of a well-trained psychologist. I’m afraid that we may all have been willing participants in these ruthless activities that may just send my Mother into dementia as she ages. But when Dad was around he always came to Mom’s defense and temporarily made us realize the error in our ways (using less than 5 words) and we would momentarily set out to make things right.
Why this disparity? I may never know for sure but I’m guessing it has something to do our inherent manipulative nature and Mom’s willingness to divulge the reasons behind the rules, the consequences resulting from our behavior, the lessons learned from our actions, the role we played in our choices, and the emotions that ensued based on our conduct – all logic based analysis that we could ultimately manipulate to our devious benefit. Dad taught us obedience and respect, plain and simple, using very few words, leaving very little room for us to employ our manipulative tactics. They perfected a fine balance raising four unruly girls.
While I may be more inclined to blurt out nearly every thought that forms in my head Riley has most certainly inherited his quiet nature from my Father.
The freshman football coach spent a few minutes reflecting on the strengths of each player at the end of season party – when it came around to Riley it was no surprise he received the award for the man with the fewest words. Riley listens attentively, he nods in acceptance to instructions, he follows directions without an argument and he absorbs constructive criticism without any back talk. The coaches could count his words spoken all season on one hand and what may have seemed like silent defiance in the beginning was quickly recognized for superb self restraint which was demonstrated in his uncanny ability to simply listen and perform – all without any discussion.
These men of few words are not necessarily shy. They are witty, intelligent and well spoken. They also have solid opinions and strong voices. But for the most part they listen, they absorb, they contemplate and then they act accordingly. They simply keep superfluous chit chat at a minimum.
You catch these two in rare mood or a passionate conversation and they will talk like yours truly. They have my full undivided attention during these moments – the conversations are stimulating, their opinions are worth considering, and more often than not I am left with advice or lessons learned that only these men of few words can provide. Despite their age difference these two have more in common than most people realize. They keep our rants in check, they often leave us wondering what’s on their minds and they occasionally have us yearning for more of their simple, albeit brilliant, insight into this complicated world.
When they time is right they will always divulge their secrets – until then the idle chit chat and deep discussions are left up to us girls. We all live up to these roles – none of us ever disappoint… a fine balance perfected by all.
Saturday, November 7, 2009
A Halloween Tradition
From the beginning... (well, as far Riley - or Hope - or Nico can remember) we have always spent Halloween with the Murphy's. From Scappoose, to Battle Ground, and all the way to Boise we consider it a tradition. When the Murphy's packed up their home and moved it 400 miles away in another state Riley knew Halloween just wouldn't be the same. I'm not one to disappoint and I'm a sucker for tradition so I purchased plane tickets, kept our impending trip a secret and eventually surprised Riley on Halloween - we were, after all, going to spend Halloween with the Murphy's despite a little distance. The ritual continues and once again this year we boarded a plane all set to embark on our customary celebration.
Super Boy tried to escape... 
Super Girl helped fly us safely to our destination.
Super Boy tried to escape... Not finding a way out he settled down with a little music.
Halloween preparations were chaotic, as usual. Hair had to be curled, make-up was applied, costumes were donned, eyelashes were secured, children ran all through out, candy baskets were repeatedly lost but always recovered, pizza was scarfed down by all, pictures were a plenty and the fun was only about to begin.
Spider Man ate each piece of candy before it could land in his bucket.
There was a multitude of witches this year.
The big boys evaded the camera.
Irreplaceable memories were made by all!
Saturday, October 31, 2009
A Viral Epidemic
Our happy, healthy family has been infected by a virus.
Not much of a detour in the big scheme of life but when you’re deep in the trenches of burning fevers, hacking coughs, perpetual runny noses and miserable, crying, not sleeping children it can be dark and gloomy – I entered the space where I believe every cough could be my child’s last breath; I diagnose red chapped lips and dry skin as severe dehydration requiring immediate medical attention; hoarse voices and loss of appetite have me offering unlimited suckers just to sooth a dry a throat and ensure they aren’t delusional – the day my kids turn down a sucker I know it’s time to call 911; lethargy prompts me to call the doctor (for the 3rd time that day) because my kids never sit still; low grade fevers send me scouring for Tylenol and swearing at a faulty thermometer that won’t report anything higher than 94.3. For a split moment I almost believe this low temperature might be accurate and this surely signals their little bodies are shutting down and slowly dying. This infirmary is not a safe place for me… my children will undoubtedly survive this bug but my sanity has taken a serious beating and I’m beginning to wonder if it will ever bounce back to reality.
I’ve been in this sickbay for weeks. It started with Riley. To be honest Riley was easy. Riley doesn’t complain. He sleeps for hours. He can take massive doses of Advil or Sudafed or even a sleeping pill if he desperately needed it. Riley didn’t even miss any school or football despite his horrible congestion. He’s a trooper – even vomiting in his mouth during warm-ups, only to swallow it all and keep going so he could play in a game. (Too much information??)
I panicked when I developed a minor cough that lasted only a day or two. As much as I offer up my body as a substitute when my kids are sick, the thought of Mom sick sounds panic alarms – I am the caretaker and who will coddle my sick, crying babes if I am bedridden? I’m sure we’d figure it out and Roger would be a fabulous substitute but I dread the idea of not being there when my kids need me the most.
All my fear was unsubstantiated… I remained healthy. Thankfully I was spared for now. Just as Riley was on the mend Hope began to show signs that she was indeed coming down with the bug. A week of missed school, hoards of Tylenol, countless movies and lots of rest – Hope was finally feeling better.
On the day Hope returned to school, when I eventually made my reappearance at work, Nico succumbed to the virus. We emptied our stock pile of Tylenol, spent another entire week at home, coddled a miserable babe, and rented every Spider Man and Super Man movie we could find to distract Nico from his misery and bide our time while on the road to recovery.
Did we have the swine flu? Maybe… maybe not… our Dr’s office stopped testing so we may never know. The low grade fevers and mild symptoms have the expert’s speculating that it may have been another bug. I have to wonder… if this was not the swine flu how bad could the swine flu be? I often wondered if we’d all survive.
Of course, none of my kids got this bug at the same time… we had to drag it out for weeks. The symptoms became more severe with each child – or perhaps it was just their reaction the suffering that made each case less bearable. Either way, I can only hope it was indeed the swine flu…
The kids have regained their cantankerous personalities – no worse for the wear! To think I was in absolute anguish, begging for our normal to return just a day or two ago…
It feels great to be back to normal!
Not much of a detour in the big scheme of life but when you’re deep in the trenches of burning fevers, hacking coughs, perpetual runny noses and miserable, crying, not sleeping children it can be dark and gloomy – I entered the space where I believe every cough could be my child’s last breath; I diagnose red chapped lips and dry skin as severe dehydration requiring immediate medical attention; hoarse voices and loss of appetite have me offering unlimited suckers just to sooth a dry a throat and ensure they aren’t delusional – the day my kids turn down a sucker I know it’s time to call 911; lethargy prompts me to call the doctor (for the 3rd time that day) because my kids never sit still; low grade fevers send me scouring for Tylenol and swearing at a faulty thermometer that won’t report anything higher than 94.3. For a split moment I almost believe this low temperature might be accurate and this surely signals their little bodies are shutting down and slowly dying. This infirmary is not a safe place for me… my children will undoubtedly survive this bug but my sanity has taken a serious beating and I’m beginning to wonder if it will ever bounce back to reality.
I’ve been in this sickbay for weeks. It started with Riley. To be honest Riley was easy. Riley doesn’t complain. He sleeps for hours. He can take massive doses of Advil or Sudafed or even a sleeping pill if he desperately needed it. Riley didn’t even miss any school or football despite his horrible congestion. He’s a trooper – even vomiting in his mouth during warm-ups, only to swallow it all and keep going so he could play in a game. (Too much information??)
I panicked when I developed a minor cough that lasted only a day or two. As much as I offer up my body as a substitute when my kids are sick, the thought of Mom sick sounds panic alarms – I am the caretaker and who will coddle my sick, crying babes if I am bedridden? I’m sure we’d figure it out and Roger would be a fabulous substitute but I dread the idea of not being there when my kids need me the most.
All my fear was unsubstantiated… I remained healthy. Thankfully I was spared for now. Just as Riley was on the mend Hope began to show signs that she was indeed coming down with the bug. A week of missed school, hoards of Tylenol, countless movies and lots of rest – Hope was finally feeling better.
On the day Hope returned to school, when I eventually made my reappearance at work, Nico succumbed to the virus. We emptied our stock pile of Tylenol, spent another entire week at home, coddled a miserable babe, and rented every Spider Man and Super Man movie we could find to distract Nico from his misery and bide our time while on the road to recovery.
Did we have the swine flu? Maybe… maybe not… our Dr’s office stopped testing so we may never know. The low grade fevers and mild symptoms have the expert’s speculating that it may have been another bug. I have to wonder… if this was not the swine flu how bad could the swine flu be? I often wondered if we’d all survive.
Of course, none of my kids got this bug at the same time… we had to drag it out for weeks. The symptoms became more severe with each child – or perhaps it was just their reaction the suffering that made each case less bearable. Either way, I can only hope it was indeed the swine flu…
The kids have regained their cantankerous personalities – no worse for the wear! To think I was in absolute anguish, begging for our normal to return just a day or two ago…
It feels great to be back to normal!
Monday, October 26, 2009
Hope’s Nutcracker Debut
Our determined Hope has landed herself a sweet little part in the Nutcracker play to be put on by high school students at Riley’s high school this December. Hope is exceptionally excited to be in a clown in this production. I got a sneak preview today… I was invited in to the classroom and told I had to see this.
The children selected to be clowns all danced around performing their parts to perfection. I was mildly surprised but extremely delighted to see how well these young children had already mastered the show.
But there was more… the part I had to see.
While all the other clowns danced off the stage I watched in awe as Hope flawlessly performed her own little solo. Hope is tugging on Clara while being scolded (you all know the part). Hope releases her grip on Clara, taunts her a bit then impeccably completes four cartwheels across the stage as she makes her exit.
Seriously adorable!!!
The children selected to be clowns all danced around performing their parts to perfection. I was mildly surprised but extremely delighted to see how well these young children had already mastered the show.
But there was more… the part I had to see.
While all the other clowns danced off the stage I watched in awe as Hope flawlessly performed her own little solo. Hope is tugging on Clara while being scolded (you all know the part). Hope releases her grip on Clara, taunts her a bit then impeccably completes four cartwheels across the stage as she makes her exit.
Seriously adorable!!!
October Happenings
Check out our October Happenings on Shutterfly... (just a teaser: more Homecoming pics are included)...
Click here to view - Enjoy!
Click here to view - Enjoy!
Wednesday, October 21, 2009
Homecoming!!!
Oh, what a treat to live vicariously through my teenager. The big day arrived… I was full of nerves, eager anticipation, and on a desperate final attempt to bring home just the right pair of shoes (shoes for Riley that is – I am always on the perpetual, never ending search for the perfect shoes for ME but that’s another post).
My first outing for Homecoming shoes left me empty handed because Riley’s desired pair of shoes was a mere $148. And my attempt to find some cheaper knock-offs was obviously unsuccessful. The second trip I found a perfect substitute but a teenage mind was deeply unsatisfied with my selection (most likely because I picked them out). So my third and final attempt became a desperate excursion to simply find a cheap pair of shoes, in black, with laces, in size 10 that a picky teenager would wear despite his vocal dislike.
The third trip was a success! No, Riley did not like the shoes but he had no choice at this point but to wear them… I consider that a success.
The clothes were much simpler to secure. A quick trip through Macy’s and Riley picked the first black shirt and pants he saw. I had to bribe him to at least try them on before purchasing.
Boys are so nonchalant about prepping for these grandiose events (unless it comes to shoes apparently).
At precisely 4:24 I interrupted a guitar hero solo and asked the boys when they wanted to leave. “4:20”, they replied. Obviously they weren’t in a big hurry. They took their time getting dressed – playing XBOX between each article of clothing they donned.
I insisted Riley whiten his teeth earlier in the day and with the boys finally dressed (I was happily snapping away with the camera annoying the heck out of them!) we tied Jake’s tie, encouraged them to refresh their deodorant, sprayed them with cologne, handed the boys a pack of gum (in lieu of demanding they brush their teeth) and piled them in the car.
The plan was to meet up at Marie’s house where about 5 or 6 girls would meet up with a group of boys and they would make their way to PF Changs for dinner and head off to the dance.
I got such a kick out of their paltry efforts to prepare for the dance. It took them no more than 4 and ½ minutes to get ready for the dance. In my scurry to find shoes I encountered hundreds of teenage girls at the mall with their hair all done up sitting anxiously at the make-up counters in the department stores finalizing their day long journey to prepare for the big dance. The boy’s preparations seemed almost inadequate in comparison.
The weren’t nervous at all. I think… no… I know, I was definitely more nervous and certainly more excited than the boys.
We couldn’t find Marie’s house so I dropped the boys off at Nico’s who offered to take them along. At Nico’s we encountered more Moms with cameras but I was already past my quota so I bid them good bye, wished them luck, reminded them to chew a piece of gum after dinner and left feeling all giddy just thinking about the memories they were about to construct on this adventure.
Riley looked like a GQ model. I can’t wait until the next dance!
Here is a sneak peak of Homecoming night. Check back soon for a link to Shutterfly where I will post more on the preparations.
My first outing for Homecoming shoes left me empty handed because Riley’s desired pair of shoes was a mere $148. And my attempt to find some cheaper knock-offs was obviously unsuccessful. The second trip I found a perfect substitute but a teenage mind was deeply unsatisfied with my selection (most likely because I picked them out). So my third and final attempt became a desperate excursion to simply find a cheap pair of shoes, in black, with laces, in size 10 that a picky teenager would wear despite his vocal dislike.
The third trip was a success! No, Riley did not like the shoes but he had no choice at this point but to wear them… I consider that a success.
The clothes were much simpler to secure. A quick trip through Macy’s and Riley picked the first black shirt and pants he saw. I had to bribe him to at least try them on before purchasing.
Boys are so nonchalant about prepping for these grandiose events (unless it comes to shoes apparently).
At precisely 4:24 I interrupted a guitar hero solo and asked the boys when they wanted to leave. “4:20”, they replied. Obviously they weren’t in a big hurry. They took their time getting dressed – playing XBOX between each article of clothing they donned.
I insisted Riley whiten his teeth earlier in the day and with the boys finally dressed (I was happily snapping away with the camera annoying the heck out of them!) we tied Jake’s tie, encouraged them to refresh their deodorant, sprayed them with cologne, handed the boys a pack of gum (in lieu of demanding they brush their teeth) and piled them in the car.
The plan was to meet up at Marie’s house where about 5 or 6 girls would meet up with a group of boys and they would make their way to PF Changs for dinner and head off to the dance.
I got such a kick out of their paltry efforts to prepare for the dance. It took them no more than 4 and ½ minutes to get ready for the dance. In my scurry to find shoes I encountered hundreds of teenage girls at the mall with their hair all done up sitting anxiously at the make-up counters in the department stores finalizing their day long journey to prepare for the big dance. The boy’s preparations seemed almost inadequate in comparison.
The weren’t nervous at all. I think… no… I know, I was definitely more nervous and certainly more excited than the boys.
We couldn’t find Marie’s house so I dropped the boys off at Nico’s who offered to take them along. At Nico’s we encountered more Moms with cameras but I was already past my quota so I bid them good bye, wished them luck, reminded them to chew a piece of gum after dinner and left feeling all giddy just thinking about the memories they were about to construct on this adventure.
Riley looked like a GQ model. I can’t wait until the next dance!
Here is a sneak peak of Homecoming night. Check back soon for a link to Shutterfly where I will post more on the preparations.
Saturday, October 17, 2009
Bumped
Passion, persistence, and perseverance… all embodied deep within my baby girl’s heart and soul. Hope’s comfortable world at Bright Horizons, the only routine she has ever known, ceased to exist when she made her kindergarten debut this Fall. We all embarked on this new journey full of hope and anticipation but I cannot deny I was nervous – Hope would be leaving a world she owned, a playground she ruled and teachers that were smitten. Hope’s days would require her to make multiple transitions, pair her with children almost twice her age, and erase the comfort and security that has, for so long, been her sanctuary.
Would she get lost in the shuffle of multiple institutions and many daily transitions, or disgruntled with her new teachers who might (sigh) find her only average when she came from a place where she was deemed a superstar, or frustrated by her new friends who might not find her mesmerizing and esteem to match her every move and grant her dramatic demands?
These worst case scenario fears were highly unfounded – as it turns out Hope has discovered her passion in dance and gymnastics. She is persistent in her pursuit to keep up and surpass those with years of experience and she perseveres through long days with tireless effort and countless hours of extra practice.
She commenced on this journey with stamina, energy and a positive attitude – ready to take on the world. After all, as Hope will remind you, she is now five and ready to make her debut in the “real world” of kindergartners. Hope’s enthusiasm for dance and her fervor for gymnastics have already solicited much attention, appreciation and acceptance from teachers and (to Hope’s delight and my reassurance) she has repeatedly been “bumped” up.
Hope began taking pre-ballet with 5 and 6 year olds but it was clearly evident to the instructor that Hope was ready for more. She was immediately bumped up to ballet with 6-8 year olds and is already hard at work perfecting her upcoming performance in the Nutcracker ballet, performed at Southridge high school.
Hope immediately sensed a disconnect between her 5 year old gymnastic counterparts and walked out of the class insisting her after school instructors sign her up for a different gymnastics class. Her demands were granted and she spent a mere 4 weeks practicing her skill with 6-8 year olds before it became unmistakably evident that Hope’s passion and persistence deemed her ready for level 2 gymnastics. A personalized letter of congratulations was mailed home making the move to this next level official.
Hope is not pressured to succeed in this new world. In fact, Hope predictably crumbles under any pressure I unassumingly assert upon her. She has simply found an activity that she desires to do well in and she spends so much of her time perfecting these talents. Hope has discovered a new passion that brings out a fervent desire to accomplish noteworthy goals, she is persistent in her efforts to succeed and be seen, and she perseveres despite her young age or her demanding new schedule – because this is Hope’s new world… and Hope has undoubtedly found her way, she is determined and she is motivated… particularly now that she has already been ‘bumped” up. She is, no doubt, up for the challenge!
Would she get lost in the shuffle of multiple institutions and many daily transitions, or disgruntled with her new teachers who might (sigh) find her only average when she came from a place where she was deemed a superstar, or frustrated by her new friends who might not find her mesmerizing and esteem to match her every move and grant her dramatic demands?
These worst case scenario fears were highly unfounded – as it turns out Hope has discovered her passion in dance and gymnastics. She is persistent in her pursuit to keep up and surpass those with years of experience and she perseveres through long days with tireless effort and countless hours of extra practice.
She commenced on this journey with stamina, energy and a positive attitude – ready to take on the world. After all, as Hope will remind you, she is now five and ready to make her debut in the “real world” of kindergartners. Hope’s enthusiasm for dance and her fervor for gymnastics have already solicited much attention, appreciation and acceptance from teachers and (to Hope’s delight and my reassurance) she has repeatedly been “bumped” up.
Hope began taking pre-ballet with 5 and 6 year olds but it was clearly evident to the instructor that Hope was ready for more. She was immediately bumped up to ballet with 6-8 year olds and is already hard at work perfecting her upcoming performance in the Nutcracker ballet, performed at Southridge high school.
Hope immediately sensed a disconnect between her 5 year old gymnastic counterparts and walked out of the class insisting her after school instructors sign her up for a different gymnastics class. Her demands were granted and she spent a mere 4 weeks practicing her skill with 6-8 year olds before it became unmistakably evident that Hope’s passion and persistence deemed her ready for level 2 gymnastics. A personalized letter of congratulations was mailed home making the move to this next level official.
Hope is not pressured to succeed in this new world. In fact, Hope predictably crumbles under any pressure I unassumingly assert upon her. She has simply found an activity that she desires to do well in and she spends so much of her time perfecting these talents. Hope has discovered a new passion that brings out a fervent desire to accomplish noteworthy goals, she is persistent in her efforts to succeed and be seen, and she perseveres despite her young age or her demanding new schedule – because this is Hope’s new world… and Hope has undoubtedly found her way, she is determined and she is motivated… particularly now that she has already been ‘bumped” up. She is, no doubt, up for the challenge!
Wednesday, October 14, 2009
I can’t wait for…
…Saturday night; Riley will head off to his first high school dance with a group of about 10 close friends – homecoming! We picked out great clothes – black slacks, a black button down shirt with a thin, faint white stripe, a black reversible belt and Colehaan loafers. This kid looks sharp!! I WILL have pictures… the agreement stated that I would purchase the clothing and provide the funds for a pre-dinner at PF Changs in return for a few (no less than 20) pictures. Stay tuned for more on this monumental event.
…Baby Finleigh to visit the Gronke’s. Please, please, please bring my sweet, adorable niece into our humble abode so we can cuddle and coddle your babe – and satisfy our newborn envy so we don’t have to go having another one of our own. We want to marvel at the miracle of a newborn and we need to be reminded of their constant demands for attention and all the work a baby requires. We’re all here… just waiting… with many open arms to cradle your babe and give you a few coveted moments of peace. Won’t you make it happen?
…Riley’s birthday; when the majority of the Yarbrough clan will convene to toast a teenager and catch up on lost time. We will eat, we will drink and we will be one big happy family. (I do that every day but it’s much more fun with company).
So much to look forward to…
…Baby Finleigh to visit the Gronke’s. Please, please, please bring my sweet, adorable niece into our humble abode so we can cuddle and coddle your babe – and satisfy our newborn envy so we don’t have to go having another one of our own. We want to marvel at the miracle of a newborn and we need to be reminded of their constant demands for attention and all the work a baby requires. We’re all here… just waiting… with many open arms to cradle your babe and give you a few coveted moments of peace. Won’t you make it happen?
…Riley’s birthday; when the majority of the Yarbrough clan will convene to toast a teenager and catch up on lost time. We will eat, we will drink and we will be one big happy family. (I do that every day but it’s much more fun with company).
So much to look forward to…
Sunday, October 11, 2009
What’s New?
Well, I’m enjoying high school all over again as I attend football games and prepare Riley for homecoming. I’m learning what it’s like (and how incredibly hard it is) to herd a classroom of 24 five year olds when I volunteer in Hope’s classroom. And I’m watching my baby grow up into such a little man who desperately tries to keep up with his older siblings.
I am absolutely delighted to be raising a teenager. The middle school years brought a fog of awkwardness – we watched our boy go through puberty and we toiled with the idea of new found freedoms while Riley adjusted to his changing body and altered emotions. Broader boundaries that came with ever changing rules to accommodate new situations defined our days. These years were not horribly difficult but they did alter our comfortable routines and found us questioning and redefining our parenting at every corner. (I could – and will someday – write an entire post on this imminent transition).
But for now we have come full circle. Riley has a great deal of freedom but he realizes that I still play an important role in his life. He looks to me for rides or to type up a paper and he periodically asks me for advice and occasionally divulges some juicy details about his high school life. Riley’s genuinely appreciative of the role that I play in his life right now and we both go to great lengths to keep this relationship thriving. The car rides to and from games with a car full of sweaty, smelly boys might be enough to send a sane person running for hiding but I cherish those moments when the boys are all pumped up and so willing to talk about games, girls, grades and life. I even sat through the Zombie Land movie with the boys and they were incredibly grateful for the gesture – of course, I realize they had to have a parent present at this R rated film but we all had a blast and they made certain I enjoyed myself, inviting me to sit with them, sharing their popcorn, offering up their iPods to bide my time and repeatedly thanking me.
I believe we understand each other – not that either of us pretend to know what it’s like to be in each other’s shoes but we respect each of our unique lives, we value our maturing relationship and we walk a fine line between parent and child, friend and confidant. I love these teenage years!
I can relate to my teenager – I know when to step in and when to leave well enough alone. But I cannot and will not even attempt to relate to a classroom full of five year olds. I have a new found respect for all kindergarten teachers who so willingly and patiently teach these rambunctious children how to read and write. When I volunteer for a mere 2 ½ hours I am exhausted and frazzled to say the least. My one and only 5 year old wears me down with her energy and persistent demands but the experience of volunteering and watching Hope master her introduction to public school is immensely satisfying.
I spent my entire kindergarten year crying for my mommy and panicking whenever the daily routine went awry. Hope manages two schools and dance/gymnastics classes each day and is still ready to perform or argue until she gets her way each evening. I watch my baby girl try so hard to perfect her passions, whether is be singing, dancing, gymnastics or homework she is confident, determined and passionate. Hope inspires me to try harder, let go of my insecurities, and find my full potential. Hope’s discovery of a new talent, whether it is a new song or a new gymnastics or dance move, will send her into hours of countless practice until she masters the goal. Hope is relentless and despite my frustration when she can so easily master a yoga move after briefly viewing a magazine photo I am determined to find her persistence deep within me somewhere (after all, I did give birth to this girl) and obtain my own goals with perseverance. Hope is my inspiration!
While Hope succeeds in her new world Nico is finding his own way in this grown-up world. He has somewhat reluctantly deserted his binky and is still learning to sleep in a big boy bed all by himself at his delicate young age. I long for the day when he whispers good night and rolls over easily allowing slumber to overtake his tired body. It will happen all too soon – don’t wish it away too fast. Nico has found his voice and his will. He is determined to keep up in our chaotic life – demanding attention, adoring Riley and his friends, spending countless hours hanging out with the boys, and battling it out with Hope when a struggle arises. My little babe is independent and ferocious when he’s finding his way, but still loves to be cuddles and coddled and can turn on the charm and melts my heart with the simplest love – a bear hug and a kiss and he worms his way deep into my heart, where I grant his every desire and find myself wishing my babe could always stay this cute and cuddly – for I know this babe will grow up all too soon.
So I am simply enjoying these precious moments with all the happiness they bring. I am loving my life!
I am absolutely delighted to be raising a teenager. The middle school years brought a fog of awkwardness – we watched our boy go through puberty and we toiled with the idea of new found freedoms while Riley adjusted to his changing body and altered emotions. Broader boundaries that came with ever changing rules to accommodate new situations defined our days. These years were not horribly difficult but they did alter our comfortable routines and found us questioning and redefining our parenting at every corner. (I could – and will someday – write an entire post on this imminent transition).
But for now we have come full circle. Riley has a great deal of freedom but he realizes that I still play an important role in his life. He looks to me for rides or to type up a paper and he periodically asks me for advice and occasionally divulges some juicy details about his high school life. Riley’s genuinely appreciative of the role that I play in his life right now and we both go to great lengths to keep this relationship thriving. The car rides to and from games with a car full of sweaty, smelly boys might be enough to send a sane person running for hiding but I cherish those moments when the boys are all pumped up and so willing to talk about games, girls, grades and life. I even sat through the Zombie Land movie with the boys and they were incredibly grateful for the gesture – of course, I realize they had to have a parent present at this R rated film but we all had a blast and they made certain I enjoyed myself, inviting me to sit with them, sharing their popcorn, offering up their iPods to bide my time and repeatedly thanking me.
I believe we understand each other – not that either of us pretend to know what it’s like to be in each other’s shoes but we respect each of our unique lives, we value our maturing relationship and we walk a fine line between parent and child, friend and confidant. I love these teenage years!
I can relate to my teenager – I know when to step in and when to leave well enough alone. But I cannot and will not even attempt to relate to a classroom full of five year olds. I have a new found respect for all kindergarten teachers who so willingly and patiently teach these rambunctious children how to read and write. When I volunteer for a mere 2 ½ hours I am exhausted and frazzled to say the least. My one and only 5 year old wears me down with her energy and persistent demands but the experience of volunteering and watching Hope master her introduction to public school is immensely satisfying.
I spent my entire kindergarten year crying for my mommy and panicking whenever the daily routine went awry. Hope manages two schools and dance/gymnastics classes each day and is still ready to perform or argue until she gets her way each evening. I watch my baby girl try so hard to perfect her passions, whether is be singing, dancing, gymnastics or homework she is confident, determined and passionate. Hope inspires me to try harder, let go of my insecurities, and find my full potential. Hope’s discovery of a new talent, whether it is a new song or a new gymnastics or dance move, will send her into hours of countless practice until she masters the goal. Hope is relentless and despite my frustration when she can so easily master a yoga move after briefly viewing a magazine photo I am determined to find her persistence deep within me somewhere (after all, I did give birth to this girl) and obtain my own goals with perseverance. Hope is my inspiration!
While Hope succeeds in her new world Nico is finding his own way in this grown-up world. He has somewhat reluctantly deserted his binky and is still learning to sleep in a big boy bed all by himself at his delicate young age. I long for the day when he whispers good night and rolls over easily allowing slumber to overtake his tired body. It will happen all too soon – don’t wish it away too fast. Nico has found his voice and his will. He is determined to keep up in our chaotic life – demanding attention, adoring Riley and his friends, spending countless hours hanging out with the boys, and battling it out with Hope when a struggle arises. My little babe is independent and ferocious when he’s finding his way, but still loves to be cuddles and coddled and can turn on the charm and melts my heart with the simplest love – a bear hug and a kiss and he worms his way deep into my heart, where I grant his every desire and find myself wishing my babe could always stay this cute and cuddly – for I know this babe will grow up all too soon.
So I am simply enjoying these precious moments with all the happiness they bring. I am loving my life!
Monday, October 5, 2009
Calamity Jane Susan
I was simply strolling through Albertsons, contemplating my options for dinner when my brain and my body became two separate entities, each one disastrously confused without the appropriate direction from its necessary counterpart.
I started out carrying a basket stocked full of Gatorades but during this moment of undesirable brain stem failure I briefly remember the basket detaching from my grasp and begin a catastrophic ascent into the air while I, on the other hand, was heading rapidly towards the ground in what was bound to be a painful face plant. Despite the basket’s initial flight, it eventually made it’s own descent, falling just short my head (now firmly planted on the grocery store floor) sending Gatorades rolling down the aisle and producing an enormous thud that brought innocent bystanders to gawk at what initially summoned thoughts of an earthquake but turned out to be a women lying stomach down, flat on the ground, arms and legs spread wide, and Gatorades trickling out their last remaining contents as they rolled all around me.
While I lay on the floor in utter disbelief I was desperately trying to piece together the last few moments and figure out just exactly what went wrong. Horribly embarrassed by the growing audience I began to laugh hysterically and peeled my face from floor, stifling my desire to wince from my battered body and my bruised ego had me momentarily contemplating feigning a mini-stroke as an excuse for this less than graceful descent.
An Albertson’s employee was no doubt by my side in a matter of seconds (this whole episode is most likely captured on their security cameras) covering all the bases should I choose to sue them from any lasting injuries – I’m not sure you can sue for damage to the ego but if you could I would most certainly have an air tight case.
I giggled my way throughout the remainder of my shopping trip, hanging my head low, sidestepping anyone who may have seen my spastic fall, and carefully avoiding the aisle where a mass Gatorade clean-up was still underway. With just enough food to get me through the evening I was eager to make my exit and leave all my embarrassment behind.
Almost forgetting about my mishap I loaded my groceries onto the conveyor when I overheard the cashier mention something about giving wholesale prices on cases of wine. As I approached the register to pay I inquired about their discount on wine. But before the cashier could answer I heard the voice of my Albertson’s ambassador, who so quickly came to my rescue, “I am not so sure you should ever consume alcohol. I am frightened to think about what damage you would do after witnessing your face plant in aisle 7. I think you should focus on some basic balancing maneuvers before you add wine to the mix!”
I think I will steer clear of Albertsons for a while.
I made a mental note to stick to shopping carts (there’s no way those wheels are going to leave the ground and a cart could quite possibly assist with my balance should my brain ever again decide to abandon my body).
I have to remember to ask my doctor about this malfunctioning brain stem that periodically sends me scrambling to regain my balance (and I am talking about flailing arms and floundering feet) where I inevitably end up precariously positioned in a face plant, sprawled out flat on the floor.
I started out carrying a basket stocked full of Gatorades but during this moment of undesirable brain stem failure I briefly remember the basket detaching from my grasp and begin a catastrophic ascent into the air while I, on the other hand, was heading rapidly towards the ground in what was bound to be a painful face plant. Despite the basket’s initial flight, it eventually made it’s own descent, falling just short my head (now firmly planted on the grocery store floor) sending Gatorades rolling down the aisle and producing an enormous thud that brought innocent bystanders to gawk at what initially summoned thoughts of an earthquake but turned out to be a women lying stomach down, flat on the ground, arms and legs spread wide, and Gatorades trickling out their last remaining contents as they rolled all around me.
While I lay on the floor in utter disbelief I was desperately trying to piece together the last few moments and figure out just exactly what went wrong. Horribly embarrassed by the growing audience I began to laugh hysterically and peeled my face from floor, stifling my desire to wince from my battered body and my bruised ego had me momentarily contemplating feigning a mini-stroke as an excuse for this less than graceful descent.
An Albertson’s employee was no doubt by my side in a matter of seconds (this whole episode is most likely captured on their security cameras) covering all the bases should I choose to sue them from any lasting injuries – I’m not sure you can sue for damage to the ego but if you could I would most certainly have an air tight case.
I giggled my way throughout the remainder of my shopping trip, hanging my head low, sidestepping anyone who may have seen my spastic fall, and carefully avoiding the aisle where a mass Gatorade clean-up was still underway. With just enough food to get me through the evening I was eager to make my exit and leave all my embarrassment behind.
Almost forgetting about my mishap I loaded my groceries onto the conveyor when I overheard the cashier mention something about giving wholesale prices on cases of wine. As I approached the register to pay I inquired about their discount on wine. But before the cashier could answer I heard the voice of my Albertson’s ambassador, who so quickly came to my rescue, “I am not so sure you should ever consume alcohol. I am frightened to think about what damage you would do after witnessing your face plant in aisle 7. I think you should focus on some basic balancing maneuvers before you add wine to the mix!”
I think I will steer clear of Albertsons for a while.
I made a mental note to stick to shopping carts (there’s no way those wheels are going to leave the ground and a cart could quite possibly assist with my balance should my brain ever again decide to abandon my body).
I have to remember to ask my doctor about this malfunctioning brain stem that periodically sends me scrambling to regain my balance (and I am talking about flailing arms and floundering feet) where I inevitably end up precariously positioned in a face plant, sprawled out flat on the floor.
Thursday, October 1, 2009
A Whole New World
How has Hope adjusted to kindergarten? Inquiring minds want to know…
Well, Hope has not yet assumed a role as principal. She has settled for the teacher’s assistant, for now.
Nor has she been summoned to the principlal's office. She has been eerily complacent in her role as super star student.
Hope listens very carefully to instructions, meticulously completes her assignments, asks 5 million clarify (or what if?) questions, and finds it her dutiful obligation to make sure every other child puts forth his/her best effort and she ensures each follows directions without fail.
She has a busy day, a schedule fit for a princess, and she has succeeded in this transition, finding her way, taking it all in stride, and actually loving the new found freedom that her kindergarten world entails.
Mornings begin at a new daycare where Hope attends private kindergarten. She is one of only 5 students and the shy girl who hid behind me for approximately 2.5 seconds is now leading the class, directing students, and passionately absorbing all the knew knowledge she is given.
The highlight of her day begins when she makes her way to director’s office to wait for her bus. Hope is bursting with stories and questions and has been known to dance and sing, performing for the director as they await her next journey. When the bus arrives her friends Brianna and Maddie (who attend a different morning daycare) greet Hope with hugs as if they were long lost friends reuniting after years of solitude. Together they make the trek to Nancy Ryles where they become Nancy Ryles Crocodiles. All the rules change, the teacher is new and they become only 1 of 24 students. This shift in the day doesn’t at all hinder Hope’s ambition to be seen and heard. In true super star style Hope entered Nancy Ryles something of a legend… to Hope’s delight she known all over the school as Riley’s sister. In the rare event that Hope is not introduced as Riley’s sister she makes certain to announce this famous relation which imminently eludes super star status. For now, she proudly wears this badge with honor!
Hope’s first real homework assignment finally arrived after years of pretending. Hope sat with Riley for years and pretended to do homework. With much anticipation Hope sat down to color in boxes of picture with words that started with the letter ‘M’. Quite quickly, and much to my horror, I realized I have two very different children who fall on opposite ends of the spectrum when it comes to academics. Instead of coloring the box with the moose Hope drew in some grass, added some clouds, brought out the sun, created a lake, perfected a rainbow and colored in the sky – meticulously, of course! After all this (and 45 minutes) we still had 20+ boxes to go. Even Riley commiserated with us as we watched Hope work up a masterpiece of art out of a simple homework assignment, and he proudly announced that he would have scribbled each box in under one second apiece – not really caring if he even completed the assignment correctly, coloring well outside of the lines, just simply working feverishly to be done with the dreaded homework. Hope requested a new piece of paper multiple times declaring that it wasn’t quite perfect.
Can there not be a happy medium?
After school, Hope joins the 3rd, 4th and 5th graders who all take a van out to the Westside Dance Academy. More adventures ensue here where she takes ballet, gymnastics, tap/jazz and hip hop. This afterschool schedule took a bit of shuffling to get just right for Hope. Again, in true Hope fashion she was “bumped up” (a very popular term in Hope’s vocabulary now) to ballet for 6-8 year olds and gymnastics for 6-9 year olds. She was “bored” in her 5 year old classes and she is persistent that her rightful age of 5 will not hold her back from things much more advanced.
Only Hope would walk out of a gymnastics class after only two weeks and confidently announce to the teacher that she didn’t like the class… she learned how to do “all that stuff” years ago and was ready to be in “that” class. Yes, Hope insisted her after school care teachers sign her up for a different class where 6 -8 years olds were perfecting the bars, balancing on the beams and walking on their hands. So that is where Hope is today, determined to keep up and loving the challenge.
Of course, the dance/gymnastics academy made an exception for Hope. Who doesn’t make exceptions for Hope?
Hope continues to magically mesmerize teachers and students alike. Hope defines her own path, demands ample attention, puts forth 110% - it comes as no surprise that Hope loves this new world.
Well, Hope has not yet assumed a role as principal. She has settled for the teacher’s assistant, for now.
Nor has she been summoned to the principlal's office. She has been eerily complacent in her role as super star student.
Hope listens very carefully to instructions, meticulously completes her assignments, asks 5 million clarify (or what if?) questions, and finds it her dutiful obligation to make sure every other child puts forth his/her best effort and she ensures each follows directions without fail.
She has a busy day, a schedule fit for a princess, and she has succeeded in this transition, finding her way, taking it all in stride, and actually loving the new found freedom that her kindergarten world entails.
Mornings begin at a new daycare where Hope attends private kindergarten. She is one of only 5 students and the shy girl who hid behind me for approximately 2.5 seconds is now leading the class, directing students, and passionately absorbing all the knew knowledge she is given.
The highlight of her day begins when she makes her way to director’s office to wait for her bus. Hope is bursting with stories and questions and has been known to dance and sing, performing for the director as they await her next journey. When the bus arrives her friends Brianna and Maddie (who attend a different morning daycare) greet Hope with hugs as if they were long lost friends reuniting after years of solitude. Together they make the trek to Nancy Ryles where they become Nancy Ryles Crocodiles. All the rules change, the teacher is new and they become only 1 of 24 students. This shift in the day doesn’t at all hinder Hope’s ambition to be seen and heard. In true super star style Hope entered Nancy Ryles something of a legend… to Hope’s delight she known all over the school as Riley’s sister. In the rare event that Hope is not introduced as Riley’s sister she makes certain to announce this famous relation which imminently eludes super star status. For now, she proudly wears this badge with honor!
Hope’s first real homework assignment finally arrived after years of pretending. Hope sat with Riley for years and pretended to do homework. With much anticipation Hope sat down to color in boxes of picture with words that started with the letter ‘M’. Quite quickly, and much to my horror, I realized I have two very different children who fall on opposite ends of the spectrum when it comes to academics. Instead of coloring the box with the moose Hope drew in some grass, added some clouds, brought out the sun, created a lake, perfected a rainbow and colored in the sky – meticulously, of course! After all this (and 45 minutes) we still had 20+ boxes to go. Even Riley commiserated with us as we watched Hope work up a masterpiece of art out of a simple homework assignment, and he proudly announced that he would have scribbled each box in under one second apiece – not really caring if he even completed the assignment correctly, coloring well outside of the lines, just simply working feverishly to be done with the dreaded homework. Hope requested a new piece of paper multiple times declaring that it wasn’t quite perfect.
Can there not be a happy medium?
After school, Hope joins the 3rd, 4th and 5th graders who all take a van out to the Westside Dance Academy. More adventures ensue here where she takes ballet, gymnastics, tap/jazz and hip hop. This afterschool schedule took a bit of shuffling to get just right for Hope. Again, in true Hope fashion she was “bumped up” (a very popular term in Hope’s vocabulary now) to ballet for 6-8 year olds and gymnastics for 6-9 year olds. She was “bored” in her 5 year old classes and she is persistent that her rightful age of 5 will not hold her back from things much more advanced.
Only Hope would walk out of a gymnastics class after only two weeks and confidently announce to the teacher that she didn’t like the class… she learned how to do “all that stuff” years ago and was ready to be in “that” class. Yes, Hope insisted her after school care teachers sign her up for a different class where 6 -8 years olds were perfecting the bars, balancing on the beams and walking on their hands. So that is where Hope is today, determined to keep up and loving the challenge.
Of course, the dance/gymnastics academy made an exception for Hope. Who doesn’t make exceptions for Hope?
Hope continues to magically mesmerize teachers and students alike. Hope defines her own path, demands ample attention, puts forth 110% - it comes as no surprise that Hope loves this new world.
Wednesday, September 23, 2009
Invisible Boundaries
“High school is SO much better than middle school”, proclaimed Riley one recent evening while we were feverishly preparing a late dinner.
Curious to know everything about my firstborn’s new world, but cautious not to reveal my all knowing desire, I nonchalantly asked what made this leap to high school so grand.
A devious grin and an all knowing nod from Roger revealed the secret pleasures of entering high school… a school full of older and hotter girls!
A simple smile of my own could not be contained.
____________________________
With the first school dance right around the corner Riley is contemplating taking a date to Homecoming… or perhaps he will simply go with all his friends. I am dying to know what he decides but practicing patience and feigning only minimal interest.
________________________
The first football game of the season resulted in disappointment and anger. Although the tears were kept at bay his gym bag did fly across the room once he entered the emotional sanctuary of his own home. Four months of daily practice and conditioning and tireless effort found Riley (and many other players) on the sidelines most of the game, despite the 12-6 win.
No lectures on life and fairness escaped my lips. A simple back rub, a special dinner in bed and an “I’m so sorry” proved to be the right remedy to get him back up and motivated to play. He was back on the field and played in Game 2 (another win) – the first game’s disappointment almost forgotten.
____________________
These high school moments I cherish – a glimpse inside Riley’s teenage life. This life I am responsible for, a life I love more than life itself, a life that holds my heart in his hands each time my firstborn walks out my front door.
I can, no longer, remedy Riley’s hurt feelings with a phone call to a parent or a coach. He no longer needs me to follow the bus or even see that he gets to school on time. It would not behoove me to attend homecoming with Riley and his friends. And I have been banned from running out on the field should Riley get hurt in a game.
In this new world I battle my longing to lead and control a life that is not mine; but this is a life that I played a large part in creating. Hence, my desire to cross over that invisible boundary – that blurry line drawn in the sky – the line that denotes where my control ceases and Riley’s choices dominate – a line mottled with guidance and wisdom, rights and wrongs, rules and boundaries, and an abundance of love and acceptance. But a line nevertheless, that binds my control and opens the door for Riley to define his path in life, express his own desires, challenge his own independence, and define his own identity.
So I treasure those moments where I am invited into this convoluted teenage world but I am careful not to intervene beyond this invisible boundary when unecessary. I walk this line, this invisible boundary, with caution: I offer guidance, support, friendship, love and acceptance and I offer the freedom to live your life to the fullest.
Welcome to high school!
Curious to know everything about my firstborn’s new world, but cautious not to reveal my all knowing desire, I nonchalantly asked what made this leap to high school so grand.
A devious grin and an all knowing nod from Roger revealed the secret pleasures of entering high school… a school full of older and hotter girls!
A simple smile of my own could not be contained.
____________________________
With the first school dance right around the corner Riley is contemplating taking a date to Homecoming… or perhaps he will simply go with all his friends. I am dying to know what he decides but practicing patience and feigning only minimal interest.
________________________
The first football game of the season resulted in disappointment and anger. Although the tears were kept at bay his gym bag did fly across the room once he entered the emotional sanctuary of his own home. Four months of daily practice and conditioning and tireless effort found Riley (and many other players) on the sidelines most of the game, despite the 12-6 win.
No lectures on life and fairness escaped my lips. A simple back rub, a special dinner in bed and an “I’m so sorry” proved to be the right remedy to get him back up and motivated to play. He was back on the field and played in Game 2 (another win) – the first game’s disappointment almost forgotten.
____________________These high school moments I cherish – a glimpse inside Riley’s teenage life. This life I am responsible for, a life I love more than life itself, a life that holds my heart in his hands each time my firstborn walks out my front door.
I can, no longer, remedy Riley’s hurt feelings with a phone call to a parent or a coach. He no longer needs me to follow the bus or even see that he gets to school on time. It would not behoove me to attend homecoming with Riley and his friends. And I have been banned from running out on the field should Riley get hurt in a game.
In this new world I battle my longing to lead and control a life that is not mine; but this is a life that I played a large part in creating. Hence, my desire to cross over that invisible boundary – that blurry line drawn in the sky – the line that denotes where my control ceases and Riley’s choices dominate – a line mottled with guidance and wisdom, rights and wrongs, rules and boundaries, and an abundance of love and acceptance. But a line nevertheless, that binds my control and opens the door for Riley to define his path in life, express his own desires, challenge his own independence, and define his own identity.
So I treasure those moments where I am invited into this convoluted teenage world but I am careful not to intervene beyond this invisible boundary when unecessary. I walk this line, this invisible boundary, with caution: I offer guidance, support, friendship, love and acceptance and I offer the freedom to live your life to the fullest.
Welcome to high school!
Monday, September 21, 2009
Just the Facts About a Poop
It’s a well known (and often perplexing) fact that the topic of many conversations with my sisters and my dearest of friends centers around poop. It’s all a bit too much information for our husbands and they usually clear the room suddenly, obviously disturbed when our idle chit chat takes this inevitable turn.
So this post should simply feel like a routine conversation for most of you – but should I be actually telling you this news of the day we all know it would simply be a segway into a much deeper conversation revolving around poop and ultimately digressing into other bodily functions. But for the squeamish at heart who may be reading this I will leave you with this simple fact…
Nico pooped in the potty!
Enough said… until the next time we talk…
So this post should simply feel like a routine conversation for most of you – but should I be actually telling you this news of the day we all know it would simply be a segway into a much deeper conversation revolving around poop and ultimately digressing into other bodily functions. But for the squeamish at heart who may be reading this I will leave you with this simple fact…
Nico pooped in the potty!
Enough said… until the next time we talk…
Friday, September 18, 2009
Dibs and Drama
A trip to the movie store turned into an insatiable craving for Dibs (bite sized, chocolate coated ice cream treats).
Hope spotted these delectables in the check out counter and her ravenous desire to devour the small tub took over. An unsuccessful argument ensued…
I would not buy the Dibs at Blockbuster for a mere fortune, but I agreed to walk next door to the grocery store and purchase a full size tub of Dibs (promising an abundance of flavors) for a fraction of the cost. And just to make it more enticing (and stop the incessant demand for Dibs NOW) I vowed to buy two tubs of Dibs.
All to no avail…
The whining and threatening intensified. Crocodile tears threatened to make an appearance and I was banned from all future birthday parties and was the recipient of multiple threats of life long silence.
But there was no silence…
The threats persisted and the drama became exaggerated: slumped shoulders, feet dragging, tears immanent, and a last dying wish for a measly (albeit costly) tub of Dibs.
Apparently Hope was not going to live to make it the mere 30 second walk to an abundant supply and multiple flavors of Dibs. Fifteen minutes of failed reasoning and futile bribes fell upon the deaf ears of my determined child.
A final dramatic plea plagued with threats and retaliation (a few mere feet from the ice cream isle in the grocery store) prompted me to recant my generous offer and firmly walk (ok, drag!) Hope out of the store, buckle her in the car, drive her home and put her in bed.
No movies, no Dibs!
I promised that you would not die if I did not buy you Dibs at Blockbuster but because you were convinced that your fragile body would surely wither away without them I offered to buy you twice the amount just a few feet away.
You threatened to cut off all communication yet you continued on and on and on demanding Dibs at Blockbuster.
Oh Baby Girl! I cannot wait until you learn the logic of reasoning. But I suppose that you cannot learn this lesson without a bit of drama. Perhaps this performance was the first step towards your understanding…
And people say that teenagers are hard to reason with… they obviously have not conversed with Hope!
Persistent and relentless my baby girl is! (I have no idea where she gets that from so I default the blame to Roger J ) When Hope finally grasps the concept of logic and reason and incorporates those skills into her manipulatives we are all in for a serious bout of trouble.
And yet I wouldn’t trade any of this for the world. I have a confident, determined daughter temporarily hell bent on Blockbuster’s Dibs.
Your persistence (once perfected), your logic (once learned), and your reasoning (once honed) will take you far. I love you more than you know baby girl – drama and all!
Hope spotted these delectables in the check out counter and her ravenous desire to devour the small tub took over. An unsuccessful argument ensued…
I would not buy the Dibs at Blockbuster for a mere fortune, but I agreed to walk next door to the grocery store and purchase a full size tub of Dibs (promising an abundance of flavors) for a fraction of the cost. And just to make it more enticing (and stop the incessant demand for Dibs NOW) I vowed to buy two tubs of Dibs.
All to no avail…
The whining and threatening intensified. Crocodile tears threatened to make an appearance and I was banned from all future birthday parties and was the recipient of multiple threats of life long silence.
But there was no silence…
The threats persisted and the drama became exaggerated: slumped shoulders, feet dragging, tears immanent, and a last dying wish for a measly (albeit costly) tub of Dibs.
Apparently Hope was not going to live to make it the mere 30 second walk to an abundant supply and multiple flavors of Dibs. Fifteen minutes of failed reasoning and futile bribes fell upon the deaf ears of my determined child.
A final dramatic plea plagued with threats and retaliation (a few mere feet from the ice cream isle in the grocery store) prompted me to recant my generous offer and firmly walk (ok, drag!) Hope out of the store, buckle her in the car, drive her home and put her in bed.
No movies, no Dibs!
I promised that you would not die if I did not buy you Dibs at Blockbuster but because you were convinced that your fragile body would surely wither away without them I offered to buy you twice the amount just a few feet away.
You threatened to cut off all communication yet you continued on and on and on demanding Dibs at Blockbuster.
Oh Baby Girl! I cannot wait until you learn the logic of reasoning. But I suppose that you cannot learn this lesson without a bit of drama. Perhaps this performance was the first step towards your understanding…
And people say that teenagers are hard to reason with… they obviously have not conversed with Hope!
Persistent and relentless my baby girl is! (I have no idea where she gets that from so I default the blame to Roger J ) When Hope finally grasps the concept of logic and reason and incorporates those skills into her manipulatives we are all in for a serious bout of trouble.
And yet I wouldn’t trade any of this for the world. I have a confident, determined daughter temporarily hell bent on Blockbuster’s Dibs.
Your persistence (once perfected), your logic (once learned), and your reasoning (once honed) will take you far. I love you more than you know baby girl – drama and all!
Sunday, September 13, 2009
Baby Girl is off to Kindergarten
I simply cannot believe that my baby girl...
went off to kindergarten this week...
went off to kindergarten this week...
Hope will always be my baby girl - from newborn to toddler, off to kindergarten, middle school, high school or college - forever my baby girl!
Saturday, September 12, 2009
Finally… Finleigh!
With the news of Barb’s impending induction we scurried to Seattle (on Monday).
And we waited…
We spent Barb’s birthday celebrating their last night at home without a baby.
We assembled the crib, ironed the sheets, straightened the ruffle, tied bows on the bumper and basked in all the intricate details and individual design that went into completing Baby Renker’s nursery.
And we waited…
A failed attempt to induce at the clinic sent Barb to the hospital to be induced with an alternate method (on Tuesday).
We were so excited to soon meet our niece or nephew.
And so we waited… (and drank some wine).
And waited… (and drank some more wine).
Pitocin was finally started (on Wednesday).
We were excited once again.
And then we waited…
Pitocin was stopped.
Pitocin was started.
Other methods to induce were attempted.
We went shopping at Target.
And we waited…
Pitocin was started again (on Thursday).
And we waited…
We finally saw some slow progress.
And so we settled in to wait…
But a very, very short time later we listened with our ears pressed against the door and screamed in celebration when heard the news – it’s a girl!
Finally… Finleigh Rae!
Mama and Papa are madly in love with their beautiful babe and are clearly crafting a brand new Love Story – with their daughter, Finleigh Rae, as the shining star of this enchanting tale.
To see pictures of my one and only niece click here - absolutely adorable.
And we waited…
We spent Barb’s birthday celebrating their last night at home without a baby.
We assembled the crib, ironed the sheets, straightened the ruffle, tied bows on the bumper and basked in all the intricate details and individual design that went into completing Baby Renker’s nursery.
And we waited…
A failed attempt to induce at the clinic sent Barb to the hospital to be induced with an alternate method (on Tuesday).
We were so excited to soon meet our niece or nephew.
And so we waited… (and drank some wine).
And waited… (and drank some more wine).
Pitocin was finally started (on Wednesday).
We were excited once again.
And then we waited…
Pitocin was stopped.
Pitocin was started.
Other methods to induce were attempted.
We went shopping at Target.
And we waited…
Pitocin was started again (on Thursday).
And we waited…
We finally saw some slow progress.
And so we settled in to wait…
But a very, very short time later we listened with our ears pressed against the door and screamed in celebration when heard the news – it’s a girl!
Finally… Finleigh Rae!
Mama and Papa are madly in love with their beautiful babe and are clearly crafting a brand new Love Story – with their daughter, Finleigh Rae, as the shining star of this enchanting tale.
To see pictures of my one and only niece click here - absolutely adorable.
Friday, September 11, 2009
My Mental Madness
Here is a recap of a typical summer day which should explain some of my mental madness.
I try desperately to arouse a sleepy teenager for football without reducing myself to threats (which we both know hold very little truth). I begin to dread the upcoming school year which requires Riley up at 6:00 a.m. for a bright and early 7:00 a.m. start. I realize I haven’t even seen the worst of this early morning routine yet. I ponder my options – allowing Riley to be late for school over and over until he finally figures out he won’t pass his freshman year by arriving two hours late every day… withholding his allowance if I have to enter his room more than twice to get him out of bed and in the shower… resigning myself to the fact that regardless this is going to be a continuous battle… and worse, realizing that I will also have to awake at the crack of dawn now and finding myself really dreading this school year altogether.
We argue over when football starts – Riley desperately trying to sneak in a few more moments of sleep while my blood begins to boil, rapidly raising my blood pressure… I have rearranged my entire work routine all summer, meticulously monitoring the ever changing football practice schedule, driving to and from work all through out the day minimizing the times Riley has to walk – all because I feel guilty that he has to walk home after 4 hours of football only to turn around again in a few short hours for his next round of daily doubles.
Yet my expertise on the practice schedule has been questioned and I no longer feel guilty but rather encouraged by the thought of actually working a full 8 hours without interruption as I resolve to make Riley find his own transportation to and from football. My guilt suddenly subsided when my expertise was doubted and I no longer feel obligated to give him a ride.
But as I drop Riley off at football (hopefully for the last time) he thanks me for the ride and then begins to chat a bit while he waits for others to arrive. He asks me if I have to stay home today with Hope because of his practice. I do (he watches Hope on Fridays except when he has practice) and he asks if he can watch her in the afternoon for me so I can get some work done.
My guilt surrounding his intense football schedule quickly returns – pumping adoration through my heart and clouding my better judgment. Ahhh, what a sweet teenager I have. I will at least see that he gets a ride home today and then I will reconsider cutting off my generosity should another early morning argument ensue.
I try desperately to arouse a sleepy teenager for football without reducing myself to threats (which we both know hold very little truth). I begin to dread the upcoming school year which requires Riley up at 6:00 a.m. for a bright and early 7:00 a.m. start. I realize I haven’t even seen the worst of this early morning routine yet. I ponder my options – allowing Riley to be late for school over and over until he finally figures out he won’t pass his freshman year by arriving two hours late every day… withholding his allowance if I have to enter his room more than twice to get him out of bed and in the shower… resigning myself to the fact that regardless this is going to be a continuous battle… and worse, realizing that I will also have to awake at the crack of dawn now and finding myself really dreading this school year altogether.
We argue over when football starts – Riley desperately trying to sneak in a few more moments of sleep while my blood begins to boil, rapidly raising my blood pressure… I have rearranged my entire work routine all summer, meticulously monitoring the ever changing football practice schedule, driving to and from work all through out the day minimizing the times Riley has to walk – all because I feel guilty that he has to walk home after 4 hours of football only to turn around again in a few short hours for his next round of daily doubles.
Yet my expertise on the practice schedule has been questioned and I no longer feel guilty but rather encouraged by the thought of actually working a full 8 hours without interruption as I resolve to make Riley find his own transportation to and from football. My guilt suddenly subsided when my expertise was doubted and I no longer feel obligated to give him a ride.
But as I drop Riley off at football (hopefully for the last time) he thanks me for the ride and then begins to chat a bit while he waits for others to arrive. He asks me if I have to stay home today with Hope because of his practice. I do (he watches Hope on Fridays except when he has practice) and he asks if he can watch her in the afternoon for me so I can get some work done.
My guilt surrounding his intense football schedule quickly returns – pumping adoration through my heart and clouding my better judgment. Ahhh, what a sweet teenager I have. I will at least see that he gets a ride home today and then I will reconsider cutting off my generosity should another early morning argument ensue.
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