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.

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.

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.

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 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!

To see more of our adventures click here.