If I were forced to categorize myself, I’d say I’m a Little Kid
Person. Teenagers have always kind of confused me, even though I seem to
relate to them rather well. I’ve just found myself more adept at
handling the wee ones, opting for a tenacious toddler over a smart-aleck
teenager any day of the week.
But as I adjust to being the mother
of a teenager, I am beginning to think my previous view of teenagers is
based merely on what I’ve been used to up until this point. I’ve only
been the mother of a teenager for about three months, so I’d say my
skewed image isn’t a reality, but more in line with the “I just don’t
know any better” realm.
So lately, I’ve been keeping an open mind, opting not to just
chalk those years up to a lost, stinky cause that we’ll have to trudge
through until we reach the light at the end of the tunnel. Instead, I’ve
been sitting back, listening and enjoying the newfound world that’s
slowly encompassing a portion of my life.
First, I enjoy the independence my teenager possesses. He’s no
longer afraid to stay home alone, and actually prefers to stay at the
house and watch TV. Let’s just say loading three wiggling children into
my SUV only to run to town to drop one off at basketball or football practice is enough of a task without having the oldest one thrown in the mix to instigate.
Speaking of instigating, teenagers are smart enough to do that.
Experience has taught them precisely what button to push when in order
to instantly send the remaining siblings into a screaming tailspin that
leaves parents breathless and begging for mercy. Why? Oh, just because
they’re bored.
Well, that is, if we see him. Suddenly the door to his bedroom
started closing. It seemed instant. One day, he welcomed visitors to
view his world, and the next day, we were barred from entrance. He
doesn’t have a lock on his door, so I enter whenever I darn well please,
but still, I’ve had to grow used to seeing a paneled barrier where once
I would see a little boy sitting among a pile of Lincoln Logs.
And although I do seem to be adjusting to most changes, I don’t
know if I’ll ever get used to The Glare. You know the look we get when
we make them do something they really don’t want to do. Silence almost
always accompanies The Glare. The eyelids turn into little slits while
fire spews from the millimeter left open. He’s still a boy though so The
Glare is usually short-lived.
But the most amazing part of having a teenager has been seeing glimpses of maturity peek through the ashes of childhood.
He understands situations that I’m still unaccustomed to
discussing with him, so it surprises me. He sees truth, the way most
children unabashedly do, but he understands the truth now. In one recent
conversation, I told him of an upcoming happening. He smiled at the
excitement of it, but after a few seconds of thought, he saw through the
disguise and realized the root of the situation. And without
hesitation, he expressed his disdain toward the injustice. I just smiled
at him and said, “We don’t have to like what they do, but we’re called
to love them. Just remember that.” He nodded with understanding, and we
moved on to another conversation.
And the conversations are grand. He pulls me aside now to discuss
situations in adult language. And even asked his youth minister about
some pretty deep faith-based questions, which shows he not only trusts
the adults in his family, but he is being resourceful and candid to others who’ve earned his trust.
It’s a new world for me. And I rather like it. Sure, it’s
different, but underneath the surface, there’s still a little boy who
captured my heart the instant I met him all those years ago. And that
sort of love never changes — it just grows deeper.
Friday, December 14, 2012
A Dream Come True: Building our marriage
I’ve
got to admit that before Beloved Hubby and I started building our new home, I
was more than a little worried about the endeavor.
We’re
both stubborn folks, and when everyone looks at you and says, “If your marriage
can survive building a house, you’re good for life,” then your nervous meter
begins working overtime.
Who
wants to get a divorce over a house? What if building a house puts a tremendous
strain on your marriage? Is it worth it?
But
I’m here to tell you I am now convinced that’s one of those old sayings people
who’ve never built a house together make up as an excuse as to why they’ve
never built a house together.
BH
and I are the direct opposite of that old adage.
Building
a house together has strengthened our marriage. Like the steep foundation our
house stands upon, our marriage has never been more rock solid.
BH
mentioned as much to me last night.
I
told him I agreed, but I can’t pinpoint why it has strengthened our marriage. I
could only surmise that building this house has given each of us more respect
for each other’s talents.
You
see, in our house-building endeavor, BH is the head contractor, building
extraordinaire and expert on all things construction. I question nothing when
it comes to how that house stands. He’s a very talented builder who always does
things the right way. I worry about nothing. I know he’s building us the best
house possible.
But
because BH is the CEO of our construction project that means he’s not home a
lot. He spends many days and most nights at the construction site. He’s missed
more church services than he’s attended this year, and it’s not unusual for us
to not see his smiling face until 9 o’clock at night.
I
don’t help much at the construction site. I make required decisions, on his
sage advice, but I’m not picking up a single paintbrush or hammer.
Instead,
while he’s CEO of the new house, I’m CEO of the old house. I’m the one fixing
dinner, doing homework, giving baths, making lunches, making 12 trips a night
into town to pick up kids and organizing our very scheduled lives.
And
it’s OK with BH that I’m fulfilling a different role and not lifting a finger to help
at the new house. And it’s equally OK with me he’s not at home right now
because I know he’s building our home.
He
respects the work I do at home, and tells me as much. He’s constantly amazed I work a full-time job, and still manage all I do at home, without his
help. He doesn’t understand how I do it. Truth is, I don’t understand how he
looked at a blueprint and built a house from the ground up just by looking at
those pieces of paper.
And
I think the endeavor has surprised us both beyond measure. He thought, before
construction began, I would be upset because he wasn’t home much. I
figured he’d be more restrictive in the overall design of our house, and we’d
be arguing over siding colors and flooring materials. Truth is, there’s been
none of it.
Instead,
we’re more thankful of our time together. When he arrives home, he quickly
wraps me in his arms and I welcome the break from the insanity – even if it’s
only for a moment.
I
tell him constantly how talented he is, and how much respect I have for him and
all he does for our family. I urge him to take breaks, when I sense he
needs it, and I no longer mind if he spends a few hours on Sunday afternoon
immobile on his recliner.
And
he reciprocates by offering to scrub a toilet when I seem overwhelmed with
housework, or jumps at the chance to give the little boys a bath and wrap them
in cozy pajamas when the opportunity arises.
So
when people ask me when the house will be completed, I just shrug and smile.
Who cares, I think to myself. It has proved so enjoyable I’m in no hurry for
the project to end.
Truth
is, the results are far more valuable than a concrete and lumber building. In
building our house, we’ve constructed a marriage that can withstand the
elements for a lifetime.
Labels:
construction,
family,
home,
house,
lessons,
life,
love,
marriage,
relationships,
respect
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