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What Clairol Doesn't Know

You can't wash stress from your hair.

It's a rare day when my boys are home alone. It's even rarer when their behavior is such that I feel a compulsive need to wring their little necks (they aren't that little), even from the workplace.

The phone called was filled with a sense of urgency.

"Mama!"

"Yes, Butter."

"A man in a tan truck pulled up in front of the house and parked his car right in front of the window!"

"Is he still there?" I ask.

"Yes! And he just got on the roof!" came the frantic reply.

"Honey, that's the man replacing the swamp cooler. Tell your brother to walk into the backyard with the dogs. Make sure he looks up to see what the man is doing."

I hear him tell his big brother exactly what I had just told him.

Moments later, I hear the dogs become agitated and suddenly, Butter starts screaming.

"Treeeeeeeey! Nooooo! Oh no! Treeeeey! Oh no!"

Absolute terror seizes me. I get the feeling in the pit of my stomach that is akin to cresting the top of a roller coaster and then beginning the steep descent.

"Where's Trey?" I shriek into the phone.

"He's in the front yard with the stranger, " the little one responds.

By this time, I have an audience standing in the doorway to my office. Concerned coworkers are listening apprehensively as I guide my son to the safety of the backyard.

Silence suddenly fills the air while the boy watches what is transpiring now on the side of the house.

Within a minute, his voice once again fills the receiver as he begins a play-by-play commentary of the communication between my airheaded older son and what is now obviously the air-conditioning technician.

"Ok, Mama, they're just talking. The man is telling Trey that he's turning on the cooler. Trey is shaking his head up and down. Now he's walking towards the front door."

And then he informs me that he locked his brother out of the house because he thought it would be better if only one of them got hurt.

By the time the Big Guy got to the phone to relay the information the technician had given him, I was near a dimension of ticked off I had never been before.

When he started talking, I interrupted him.

"Boy, I can't talk to you right now because I have an overwhelming desire to smack you bald-headed. I'll see you when I get home."

I was still shaking when I walked in the front door.

The upside of the situation: the guilt made them both clean their rooms and vacuum the family room.

I'm setting a pest control appointment tomorrow. Maybe they'll paint the house.

Now Where Did I Leave That Kid?

This morning before church, I took the Butter on a little jaunt to the grocery store to fetch the necessities for breakfast. (Ok, I was craving bacon. Sue me.)
While there, we seperated at the deli section so that I could grab some soup for supper and he could fill up two Bladder Busters for the ride home.

I perused the soup aisle for some tomato yumminess (the only thing that goes with grilled cheese) and then beelined to the meat department to grab a couple of packages of cholesterol and fat. (Bacon, to the uninitiated.)

Walking back to the deli, I looked down every aisle just in case the Butter finished his task before I finished mine. Not seeing him along the way, I hooked a right turn down the frozen food lane and spied the soda dispenser dead ahead. It was empty.

Thinking I had somehow passed him along the way, I walked past the aisles again, hoping to catch him by the books, reading the latest comic.

When I reached the produce section, I realized with a sudden thud in my chest that I didn't know where my child was. For a moment, I panicked. I bore holes into the men in the store, looking for a trace of a child abductor in their eyes. I was met with smiles and one leer. I made a mental note not to ask that particular gentleman for help, if by some horrible twist of fate I couldn't find my youngest offspring.

I made a decision to stand in one spot, thinking that if he was wandering around, he'd find me sooner or later. Just when I was about to pull out my phone, I heard the most wonderful shout.

"Mama!" he cried. "I've been looking for you everywhere. I thought you were lost!"

I gave him a quick hug and chuckled at the fact that my own child was thinking he'd lost his mother and not thinking about the fact that he might have been the one who was lost.

We paid for our groceries and began our walk to the truck when I realized that I had not purchased a Bladder Buster for the Big Guy, who would no doubt be feeling the pangs of jealousy if his brother walked in with one and he wasn't carrying one for him.

Not wanting to go back into the store, I decided to hand the Butter a five-spot and allow him to go right back into the building where not ten minutes before, I thought I'd looked at his face for the last time.

When he came out safely a few minutes later, tossing a Dr. Pepper into the air (he loves to see it spew on his big brother), I breathed a sigh of relief.

Climbing into the truck, he announced that this particular trip to the grocery store was the best one he'd ever had.

Remembering my terror from earlier, all I could reply was a curt, "Says you."

Past and Present Love

On a whim, the Butter decided to venture into the black hole we call a garage on a quest for old books.

He hauled in a rectangular-shaped box full of paperbacks and proceeded to dump them in the family room. Between squeals of delight, he'd often often fall silent, reading the back cover of a dog-eared novel or thumbing through an old Star Wars fiction.

When he found the books he wanted to read, he asked if there was anything I wanted to see. Anxious to see what bounty had been forgotten for the past five years, I peered into the box and spied a greeting card.

The words were a sappy poem of love, elegantly scrawled across the soft pastel background.

Inside, I immediately recognized my own handwriting and I was suddenly transported back to the night I wrote the words. In it, I detailed the love I had for my husband and how very much I missed him. It occurred to me that I was writing to him while he was on a sojourn at sea.

I mentioned the child I was carrying and how much his beloved boxer, Brutus, missed him.

I closed it with words of love and the line, "There's a family in the making here, waiting for you to come home."

I handed him the card once again and as he read it, a smile spread across his face. I watched him for a moment, remembering all the traits I love about this man.

It's funny, I sent him that card 14 years ago and I've loved him more every day since then and the family has grown as well.

Leaving the room a few minutes later, I felt a sense of wonder and amazement.

Wonder that we would find that one card all these years later.

And utter amazement that the words were still true.

Beyond the Mountain

On clear days, I often sit in my family room and gaze out the window at the Catalina Mountains that rise to the north of Tucson. Where my house located, I can stand in the front yard and see all the way to the other side of the city and beyond, if I look to the west.

However, if I look north, the mountains obstruct my view and I cannot see beyond the towering peaks to the other side. I know beyond Mount Lemmon, the San Pedro River Valley lies below. But, from where I stand, I can't see it.

Daily, I struggle to love teenagers that many would deem unlovable. From the girl who consistently tries to cause trouble to the boy who bouncs off the walls in the hallways, there are many kids around me displaying very unlovable traits.

Sometimes, I find myself watching intently a student that irritates me as she moves through the school, disturbing and angering those with whom she comes into contact. I look for a reason to love her, to show her some kindness or even better, some mercy. I'll debate what I'll say and then look for an opportunity to compliment her. When the moment is right, I call her to me and tell her that I like her outfit or that I heard she did well on her latest Algebra test.

For a moment, she's stunned. And then suddenly, her face lights up and she smiles. For the rest of the day whenever I see her, she's the model student, sharing in class and leaving the fighting words behind.

To me, working with teenagers is a gift I've been given and I don't ever want to take for granted the authority that's been handed to me by virtue of my position. It's easy to look at teenagers as a whole, instead of the individuals they are. They aren't always displaying their lovable traits out there in the open for the world to see.

Like the valley beyond the mountains, they're there.

One just has to believe in the things they can't readily see.

The Unintentional Hiatus

I took a break from writing recently.

It wasn't because of banner ads on journals since I keep a seperate blog over on AOL. (I didn't write there, either)

It wasn't because I'd lost my touch with the written word, nor was I in some was disenchanted with the whole experience of making prose out of the substantial matter between my ears.

It wasn't because I didn't care about the people who read me. There was never any intention of leaving my space unhabited with no word as to why.

It was just...because.

Because my husband got sick.
Because I'm worried sick about the health of my mother and all I can do is wait for the doctors to tell us what's wrong and why...from 1800 miles away.
Because my mind goes where it shouldn't and I can't help it.
Because sometimes, I feel so alone where I am and long to be where I can't.

Because, because, because...

For the first time in many, many years, I'm struggling mightily with a weight far greater than I fear I can handle. At least, it feels that way.

It's days like today, when the sun shining and there's a warmth in the air, that things don't appear as bad as I feel they are. It's like the resurrection of hope.

The future is uncertain, but while I fret needlessly, I'm comforted by my son's observations of the recent struggles within our family:

"Mama, if God doesn't answer our prayers the way we want Him to, we have to remember that He has a greater plan for all of us. I just think it's cool He involved us at all, because you know, He didn't have to."

No, He didn't have to.

It's comforting to know that He's thinking about us when He really doesn't have to.

Smackdown at the Big House

My husband has a pat answer for just about anything. His favorite is the "you don't know what you're talking about" quip that for some reason, just rubs me the wrong way.

Granted, I do sometimes speak from my rear end about many issues. I have a certain gift of bs that I use often when a topic comes up that I know nothing about. I'm blessed that way.

However, when it comes to kids these days, there's not a whole lot of the population out there that can argue a teenager's behavior or habits better than the teacher or administrator of a high school. I am the latter.

Our big discussion came about last night as we were leaving to meet his parents for dinner. As the conversation progressed from simple opinion spewing to full-fledged war, the boys took cover. There's not a lot out there that can make me instantly passionate like a pissing match about teenagers and their views about education.

The gist is simple; the state of Arizona requires its seniors to pass a standardized test in order to graduate from high school. In preparation for this test, middle schools are requiring students to take an AIMS (Arizona Instrument to Measure Standards) preparedness class.

I think it's a good idea. My husband does not.

I allowed that our sons probably wouldn't have a hard time passing the exam, but felt it neccessary that they be ready for what will be sprung on them in their sophomore year of high school.

My husband, dear one that he is, thinks this is asinine.

He thinks the educational system is letting our kids down.
I think that stupid, lazy-ass parents are letting our kids down.

Case in point:

A kid calls a teacher a horrible name. He berates the teacher for having the audacity to tell him to lower his voice in class. The student is then told to go home for the rest of the day for swearing at a faculty member and his parent is called.

The parent responds to this notification of ill behavior by suggesting that the teacher should have asked him to be quiet instead of telling him to be quiet.

It starts with excusing bad behavior when a child is two years old. No real consequences for bad behavior, just a simple, "Don't do that, ok?" or the dreaded time-out. Even worse, reasoning with a kid that doesn't know how to go to the bathroom on their own.

It escalates to hovering over a child when they enter elementary school and then nitpicking the teacher when she tries to redirect an out-of-control first-grader.

It's expecting a teacher to teach self-esteem in a classroom when in all actuality, that particular trait is built on respect for elders, others and things.

It's doing everything for your kids instead of teaching them to do it for themselves. Parents find themselves slaves to slavemasters who have difficulty tying their shoes.

It's frivolous lawsuits against schools and administrators who suggest counseling for kids who display self-destructive behavior or who stop kids from fighting by restraining them and the kid gets a bruise on his arm. (Instead of a broken jaw or a knife to the gut.)

It's parents and "experts" that expect educational institutions to dumb down a curriculum so no child ever fails anything.

It's by placing kids in sports where "no one ever loses" and teaching them the notion that everyone wins.

It's parents who allow the TV to babysit or video games instead of interaction with the family. It's smothering the children and ignoring the marriage that results in many unnecessarily broken homes, further damaging the children they are responsible for raising.

The sad and horrifying result is schools with metal detectors, full-time police officers on campus and soaring rates of truancy and drug use.

And seniors who can't graduate high school because they can't pass a standardized test.

I agree with my husband; it's asinine that our kids will have to pass a test in order to graduate.

But, I also believe that if we continue on the path we're on, they won't have to worry about it.

Joy

For fourteen years, I wondered what I would do if my parents ever came to visit me.

This past Christmas, I found out.

First, I was overjoyed, over the moon and then, overwhelmed. The pending arrival of one's mother can often cause anxiety, especially if said mother doesn't visit often, or in my case, for 13 years. My father had never been to any of my homes.

In the days preceeding their flight, I was a whirlwind of anticipation and hysteria; I wanted everything to be perfect, but I vacillated between the appearance of perfection and the desire to be accepted for who I am, despite the condition of my home....or in my case, what I perceived it to be.

I needn't have worried. My soldier brother and parents arrived seperately but within ten minutes of one another on December 22nd. By that time, I had exhausted myself and had thrown my hands in the air in apparent defeat. I was simply happy to see them, as five years had passed since I'd last laid eyes on the three of them.

Our visit was filled with laughter, so much laughter that even today, the muscles in my stomach are a wee bit sore from the workout.

My boys took to their grandparents as if time had never elapsed between visits and hero-worshipped my brother because he talks back to their mother. The running joke was that his involvement in their lives might result in the ruination of all the things I had hoped to accomplish in my parenting. Luckily, they didn't follow his lead and remained respectful and a complete joy to have around.

We showed them Tucson, something I'd dreamed of doing since our arrival in January of 2001. My father has loved the mountains all his life and the Catalinas didn't let us down. We stopped at nearly every pullout on the way up the Catalina Highway to Summerhaven and Mt. Lemmon. We spent a couple of hours at The Cookie Cabin in Summerhaven enjoying their pizza and enormous homemade cookies before we descended back down the highway towards the valley. At our last stop along the way, my father's keen eye picked up the wreckage of two cars that had gone over the side and most likely aided the occupants to the hereafter.

When it came time to say goodbye after seven wonderful days together, it was difficult to hold back the tears. My mother, the one person I've always wanted to make proud, returned to Florida that way; leaving me feeling on top of the moon and shaking my head wondering why I ever felt as if I needed to try as hard I have most of my life. I finally realized that she had been proud of me all along and those feelings of inadequacy were just a waste of emotion and time.

Seeing my brother after his tour of duty in Iraq was just what I needed as proof that he was home safe. On top of that, I saw my brother for the first time as a man, not just the little brother who had the misfortune to have a sister that reveled in slamming his fingers in doors. His humor was infectious and his quick wit kept us in stitches. The best moment was the dawning that not only was he a great brother, he was also a friend.

Aside from a visit for the history books of our family, one of the tenderest moments was watching as his pups reacted to his sudden presence; Scout jumped for joy, all four paws high in the air and I swear the animal was smiling. Ellie was more reserved, at first keeping her distance. Later, she tentatively made her way towards him and rewarded his gestures of love with a sweet kiss on his nose. From that moment on, the three of them got down to the business of making up for lost time with ball throwing and settling into a deep sleep, snuggled closely together.

The holidays are behind us now as 2006 creeps in. However, for me, they will be remembered as one of the best Christmases I have ever had. To me, the picture above represents perfection, not the kind I could have created with my hands for the holidays, but the kind that God Himself created for me to enjoy. If I had anticipated it like I was initially want to do, I would have missed the joy He had set aside for me, not in material goods, but in the joys of merely being in the presence of the family He blessed me with.

Happy New Year.

A Bit Of Help...

This is going to sound really newbie-like, but I need some code help.

If you're viewing this through IE (Or AOL) chances are, the sidebar has dropped to the bottom. (Right hand side.)

I've gone over the code a hundred times and can't figure out why it's dropping or why there's a line around the whole blog. Anyone have any ideas that might fix this?

Thanks!

Eight Years and a Long Way To Go

Every year around this time, I write a letter to my dear friend Kristin to let her in on the happenings in my life since I saw her last. I usually write it about the same time every year; her birthday.

Dear Kristin,

Eight years.

That's how long it's been since you died. You'd have turned 23 yesterday, had you been here with us. Instead of a celebration, the day was marked with a small prayer and tears.

I miss you so much Krissy. I miss your dad and Bryan, too. The three of you were so much a part of me, that when you died, I felt like a part of me died too.

I keep your memories alive by working with teens, kind of the same way I worked with you and the others back home. I've hugged girls who were struggling with fitting in and chastised boys for being mean. I remind these kids to believe in themselves and to never stop reaching for their dreams.

I tell them about the dangers of drugs, especially crystal meth, and then I tell them about you. I tell them how Bryan came home and found those boys, high on meth, in the house. I tell them how you fought so hard to save his life and lost yours in the process. I tell them about your dad and how he did everything he could to get to you, but that the bullets cut him down before he could reach you.

I tell them about the agony your mom went through in those dark, dark days since she found the three of you that afternoon. I tell them how murder changes every single cell in a survivor's body. I tell them about dreams that were wiped away in just a few moments because someone chose to put a substance in their bodies that altered their sense of right and wrong.

I tell them how it feels to lose someone you love to murder.

I tell them about you.

I promised I would do whatever it took to make sure that you didn't die in vain.

And I've kept that promise, Krissy.

I won't let you down.


Happy Birthday Baby Girl. I miss you.

~T