Few Words Wednesday: I Wrote You a Letter

Gimme a ticket for an aero-plane.
Ain't got time to take a fast train.
Lonely days are gone, I'm a goin' home.
My baby, I wrote you a letter.

I addressed my letter to my Grandpa and Grandma, and then I drew a
smiley-face stamp exactly where my mama told me the postage should go.

Then I took my letter out to the mailbox in my underwear.
(Don't judge - it's hot in Texas.)

I put my letter on top of the mailbox while I opened the mailbox door.
(It took two hands and I cried a little because I the door was so tight.)

And then I put my letter in the mailbox and went
back inside to wait for the mailman to come.

You can imagine how well it went over when our mailman came to the house and didn't take the letter out of the mailbox. I had to make up some ridiculous excuse about how there must not have been enough postage on the letter, wait for her to draw a second smiley-face stamp, put the letter back in the mailbox, and then sneak out at night and remove the letter from the mailbox.

I just hope she doesn't ask Grandma and Grandpa if they enjoyed the letter she sent...

"I See Nothing as Promising as the View from a Ferris Wheel"

~ E.B. White

My last name used to be Mueller, which we pronounced Muller but everyone else on the planet mispronounced as Mew-ler or Miller. I looked forward to taking Tom's last name when we got married because as much as I loved my parents and extended Mueller family, I'd grown sick and tired of spelling and correcting people's pronunciation of my last name.

Turns out no one can spell Ferris either, even when I say, "Ferris, like the wheel".

Speaking of Ferris Wheels, yes, Tom (and therefore Will and Hallie as well) are distantly related to George Ferris, the inventor of the Ferris Wheel. George didn't have children of his own, but his siblings did and Tom is George's great, great, great, great, great nephew. Being related to the inventor of the Ferris Wheel is a great claim to fame, but I'll tell you what, the connection does us absolutely no good at amusement parks...we've never gotten on a Ferris Wheel for free.

My love for and fascination with Ferris Wheels began long before I met Tom and joined the Ferris family, and changing my last name 10 years ago gave me the only excuse I needed to start collecting and decorating my home with Ferris Wheel photos and prints and three-dimensional Ferris Wheels.

Most of the Ferris Wheel art throughout our house was shot, drawn, painted, or created by professionals, and as an embryonic photographer, I continue my quest to take a Ferris Wheel photo that could find a home (and not look out of place) in my collection. Last month's county fair provided me with a perfect opportunity to capture a few Ferris Wheel shots, and while none of these meet my criteria for framing, they're still a lovely connection to my Ferris family.

Interesting, Tom barely notices the 10 or so Ferris Wheels that grace our walls and sit on our shelves, and I know this to also be the case with one of Tom's Ferris cousins, who barely notices as his wife obsesses over and decorates with Ferris Wheels just as I do. They just don't appreciate their connection to George...

Look Up

Seven years ago, my little sister, Sara, planned for the song "Father and Daughter" by Paul Simon to accompany her father-daughter wedding dance. For those unfamiliar with the song, the lyrics to the refrain are below:

I'm gonna watch you shine, gonna watch you grow.

Gonna paint a sign, so you'll always know.

As long as one and one is two, there could never be a 

Father who loves his daughter more than I love you.  

Click here to listen to the song. But get tissues first.

As Sara and my dad waited, arm in arm, to walk down the aisle, my dad reached into his pocket. When Sara looked down, my dad pulled out a small slip of paper on which he'd written "1 + 1 = 2". 

Tears welled in both of their eyes, but because they were about to begin their walk, they looked at each other and reminded one another to "look up". Because when your eyes fill with tears and you look up, thanks to either an anatomical feature of the eyes or the grace of a higher power, you can often keep the tears from spilling over.

1 + 1 = 2

Look up.

Whenever my mom, Sara, or I start to cry and need to slow our tears, we remind each other to look up. 

I rarely sit at the counter in my kitchen, but last Wednesday morning I found myself perched on Will's stool at the counter, working on his birthday blog post.

As is often the case when I write about my kids - and is always the case when I write their birthday posts - emotion overwhelmed me, my eyes began to water, and my vision blurred. Without a tissue within reach, I fluttered my eyelids and looked up, hoping to slow the waterworks.

And when I looked up, the overwhelming longing I'd felt for my no-longer-little little boy disappeared. Because the ceiling above my boy's kitchen stool? The ceiling was COVERED with food.

Looking up may have worked for Sara and my dad, but the next time I need to slow the tears I think I'll just grab a tissue.

Now if you'll excuse me, I need to go clean my ceiling. Better yet, I need to go find my no-longer-little little boy and make him clean my ceiling.

Lucky #7

Behaviorally speaking, Will's terrible two's, trying threes, and frustrating fours were, well, terrible, trying, and frustrating. Not all of the time, of course, but enough of the time that I don't feel guilty using those adjectives.

But something miraculous and beautiful took place when Will turned five. Suddenly he began to obey the rules. He respected my authority. He listened and followed directions and accepted my decisions. He cleaned up his messes, either on his own or after only one request to do so. He actually washed himself in the shower and brushed his teeth in the bathroom. He learned how to tie his shoes (and then tied the shoes of every child in his kindergarten class for nine months straight), buckle his belt, and put together an outfit that didn't clash horribly. In a short window of time, Will transitioned from a wildly unpredictable and emotionally unstable preschooler to a hard-working and respectful kindergartner.

And now, another, unexpected transition is underway. Just as suddenly as he began to obey the rules, he's begun to break them. He questions my authority. He listens less, follows directions only when they align with his preferred outcomes, and argues with 75% of my decisions. He needs multiple reminders to clean up after himself, and procrastinates when it comes to personal and dental hygiene. (Thankfully he still rocks at tying his shoes, buckling his belt, and getting dressed.) Right now Will figuratively taunts me with the key to the cage where "wildly unpredictable" and "emotionally unstable" have been safely locked up for the last two years.

You're probably thinking, "Argh! How can you stand it?! What are you going to do?! Your once nearly-perfect genius angel son has gone over to the dark side!"

Yes, these new behavioral developments frustrate me, not just because interacting with Will has become a bit more challenging, but also because I worry about his little sister watching and listening to and learning from him. And then imitating him.

But at the same time, I'm secretly - and now not so secretly, since I'm sharing my feelings with all of you - ridiculously proud.

For the first time in his young life, Will stands up for himself. Instead of blindly obeying my rules, following my directions, and accepting my decisions, he asks questions. He considers all of his options - including those I haven't given him - before saying "yes", and delivers a confident "no" when he believes I've made a mistake or I'm treating him unfairly. He advocates for more responsibility and wants a more heavily-weighted say in how, with whom, and where he spends his time. All this, I believe, to show me he's ready to turn seven. And in his eyes, seven is no longer little.

His delivery needs work. A lot of work. And because he hasn't yet figured out how stretch his individuality muscles while simultaneously respecting authority, Will often spends at least a few minutes a day in "time-out" or without one privilege or another for yelling at me or making a snide, under-his-breath comment about one of our rules. But when I peel back the rough, outer layers of this transition, the inside is beautiful. Will is learning about right and wrong and fair and unfair and life and consequences and how to balance it all as he begins to travel not the road I have paved for him, but his own road.

Today he turns seven. He wants to walk his own path. In the shadows of the trees, he holds my hand, but when we walk out into the sunlight he lets go and walks a half step ahead of me. My saving grace - the one small act that keeps me from completely dissolving into tears - is that every few steps, he glances over his shoulder to make sure I'm still there.

I'll always be there, whether you're seven or 17 or 47, Will. Always.

Happy birthday, sweet boy. I love you to the moon and back plus infinity times a million with a cherry on top.

Weekly Wrap-Up (10.4.13 on 10.3.13)

No, it's not Friday. This week's Weekly Wrap-Up is hitting the interwebs a day early in order to open up the Friday slot for my boy's birthday post. Hard to believe today is his last day as a six-year-old...

Cups, 17.0

Two years ago I shared too many versions of One Direction's "What Makes You Beautiful". Last year I shared too many versions of Carly Rae Jepson's "Call Me, Maybe". This year I shared - and continue to share - too many versions of Cups. I have a sickness.

I try my best, however, to share only videos and audio clips that 1) maintain the integrity of the original song (yes, it's possible for spoofs to do this) and 2) offer a unique take on the what the original artist created. This version of Cups aligns with both of my guidelines, and is, quite frankly, beautifully done. Gorgeous voices singing unique and interesting harmonies...I promise you'll love it.

Spreading the Awkwardness
We've all seen at least a few awkward family photos...heck, some of us have even been a part of an awkward family photo or two. These photos never fail to elicit a laugh, and they make us feel better about the family photo we took in front of Christmas tree last year - you know, the one in which little Susie is crying and little Jimmy has his finger up his nose and Grandma's eyes are closed.

Older child attempted to run away.

Younger child blinded by cupcake hat.

So what could be better than a website devoted to these photos? Not much! Awkward family photo after awkward family photo, added every few hours every single day. This website is almost as enjoyable as Des Hommes et des Chatons. Almost, but not quite.

Something to Think About
I want to urge you to make waves. I want to urge you to rock the boat. I want to urge you to get off your duff. I want you to speak out at whatever cost if it comes from your heart. You're going to build this country in which my six grandchildren will grow up. And when you see what you have done, I hope that you are proud of it.     ~ Ann Richards

I know people whose lives dramatically changed - and not for better - between Monday night and Tuesday morning as a direct result of the government shutdown. I side with neither political party, but with the American People who deserve better from their elected officials. I have no idea what I can do to rock the boat, and to help our country move toward a solution, but you can bet I'm going to find out. Suggestions welcome.

#Hashtags
This video's made the rounds on Facebook, but I thought I'd throw it up here for those of you who haven't yet had a chance to enjoy watching Justin Timberlake and Jimmy Fallon make fun of our #hashtag-driven society. My plan to stay as far away from hashtags as possible is underway and going well, and this video keeps me motivated to continue avoiding the pound sign for as long as possible. #ihatehashtags #iwantadonut

Red Cross: Recommit to Preparedness
September was National Preparedness Month, and now October is Fire Safety Month. I encourage you to take a few minutes this month to recommit yourself to emergency preparedness so that when disaster strikes, your family, your home, and your workplace will be safe. Questions? Don't hesitate to ask!

Few Words Wednesday: I Miss That

I remember when they woke from their naps smiling, laughing, and excited about taking on the remainder of the day. I miss that.

I remember when they woke from their naps and waited patiently - talking to their stuffed animals or singing songs - for me to scoop them out of the crib and into a cozy embrace. I miss that.

I remember when they actually napped. I miss that.

The Table is Where Time Stops

Last spring, my lovely friend Leslie read and recommended on her blog the book Bread & Wine by Shauna Niequist. I've yet to read the book myself - my public library doesn't carry a copy, and I've taken an oath to reign in my book spending - but I enjoyed both Leslie's review and the passage from the book she chose to share:

"I want you to stop running from thing to thing to thing, and to sit down at the table, to offer the people you love something humble and nourishing, like soup and bread, like a story, like a hand holding another hand while you pray. We live in a world that values us for how fast we go, for how much we accomplish, for how much life we can pack into one day. But I'm coming to believe it's in the in-between spaces that our lives change, and that the real beauty lies...It's about showing up in person, a whole and present person, instead of a fragmented, frantic person, a phone in one hand and to-do list in the other. Put them down, both of them, twin symbols of the modern age, and pick up a knife and fork. The table is where time stops. It's where we look people in the eye, where we tell the truth about how hard it is, where we make space to listen to the whole story..."

In a perfect world, the four of us would sit down for dinner together every evening. In the real world, we all make it to the table at the same time once, maybe twice, a week.

The culprits are many...dance, gymnastics, and karate lessons, baseball practices and games, disc golf league, Tom's work schedule, evening meetings, and occasional travel keep at least one of us from joining the rest at the table almost every night of the week. Healthy, homemade meals still find their way into our bellies, but often in shifts - the kids before their activities while Tom is still at work, and then Tom and I after the their (and our) activities, once the kids have succumbed to sleep.

On evenings when Tom works late and I pack the hours between 3pm and 8pm with homework, laundry, errands, PTO meetings, and chauffeuring Hallie and Will to and from lessons and practices, sitting down to dinner together takes a backseat. Staying on top of our workloads, making sure we have clean clothes to wear the next day, getting everyone where they need to be on time, and remembering to bring everyone home at the end of the night trump 30 minutes of rushed togetherness at the table.

Hallie's table-scape.

But now I feel the need to make a change...to edit - ever so slightly - our list of priorities and follow this wise author's lead.

I'm not shooting for the stars here, folks. My goal is one additional shared evening meal together every week. I will offer my family more than just sustenance every evening. I will share my stories, and listen - really listen - as they tell theirs. I will hold their hands and say a prayer of thanks, not just for the food we eat, but also for the opportunity to spend time with each whole and present person.