Practice in letting go

“The bicycle is the most civilized conveyance known to man. Other forms of transport grow daily more nightmarish. Only the bicycle remains pure in heart.”

— Iris Murdoch, “The Red and the Green”

For a mother, it turns out to be nightmarish exercise in utter futility, only comparable to learning to tie one’s shoes.

Load up one very gangly little boy, knees already covered in scabs, bruises and scrapes, position him on this two-wheeled contraption and let go.

(It’s the letting go part that bothers us moms.)

Because as soon as mom lets go, the bike starts wobbling to and fro and she knows that those knees are going to be roughed up again.

He crashes, of course. Mom walks a few feet over to where he lays, picks the bike up off that little boy, and wheels it back to the starting line.

Little boy is loaded up once again, while mom grabs the back of the seat. She pushes off and yells, “Keep pedaling. Don’t stop!”

He stops when the bike lands on top of him.

They wheel it back up to the starting line again.

By this time, little boy is getting defeated. So mom keeps cheering him on.

“You can do this!”

So he climbs back on, gripping the handlebars as hard as he can. Still holding on to his seat, mom doesn’t want to let go. Not again. She pushes off, and he pedals, and he pedals some more.

“Use the brakes,” much older, wiser brother screams.

Brakes used, gravel flies and bike again lands on smiling, happy, exuberant little boy.

“I did it. I did it!”

Little boy wanted a shiny, new bicycle for his 8th birthday, so he and his mom headed to discount haven to see what they could find. Walking in the double sliding doors, the excitement was pouring out of his little body. New bike day is a big day — almost bigger than turning 8. Mom and her little boy made a bee line to the back of the store, where many shiny bikes hung in wait for little boy to pick out his favorite.

The first bike they pulled out of the cage was a sky blue Tony Hawk version. It was a full 20-inches, and had shiny black pegs that little boy knew one day would support his very brave little brother. The pedals looked super cool, and little boy was convinced this was the bike for him. No other would possibly do. He tried it on, and it fit — just barely. The seat would need to be lowered, but the sky blue Tony Hawk bike made little boy smile.

Mom loves to see little boy smile.

He patiently wheeled it through the store, rounding curves, as mom picked up toilet paper, diapers, soup, cookies and more. He held on tight to that bike, as people couldn’t help but comment, “Looks like someone’s getting a new bike.” Little boy’s grin only grew bigger with each passing comment.

The new bike was loaded up in the big truck and hauled home. The seat was lowered with a simple Allen wrench by experienced mom, and little boy began practicing his pursuit of ultimate boyhood — learning to ride a bike.

And as mom watched with awe, she realized that it’s always going to be the letting go part that’s the hardest.

It's me, only much better

It's not hard to see that I am in a better place than where I was, say four or five years ago. But to be honest, I don't notice it much anymore. It's just become my life. Well, it's me, only better.

I spent the first 12 years of my adult life with one man. And it's hard for me to remember now being happy during those 12 years with him. I don't say that as a jilted divorced woman with an axe to grind. Not in the least. No axes, here. No vendettas. He's who he is, and I am who I am. Those two people just stopped fitting together.

When that was over, life was hard, until I met the man I was truly meant to spend the rest of my life with. It wasn't hard for anyone to notice. Even my son, who was a mere 8 years old and who was having his own issues dealing with a divorce, remarked, "Mom, Henry makes you smile. You haven't smiled in a long time. You just cried." Pretty deep words coming from a kid, and I knew what he meant. I wasn't me until I met Henry.

Dear Friend reminded me of that tonight as we strolled through town. We chatted about the latest news, and I told her my ex was getting remarried. I told her, "It's no big deal. I've been better off for a long time now." She remarked, "Yes. You're totally different." She's said this to me before, and I know what she means. I value her opinion, and understand her truths. I know who I was then, and I know who I am now, and I know where the credit for that recovery goes. There is a man who makes me truly happy. Who makes me laugh, smile and enjoy my life again.

I don't think about it much anymore because it has become normal for me to be happy. That's a good thing. I've accepted my divorce and all that came with it, the good and the bad. I'm not happy I've been divorced. I mean, who is? But I've come so far ...

Really, I'm still me, but with Henry, I'm much better.

Hey, let's make Emery laugh!!

It's the newest game in our house: Let's make Emery laugh.

It's not a hard game to play, but The Three Big Brothers sure love to play it.

Take Thirdsie, for example. If he laughs at Emery, Emery will laugh right back. Em definitely loves Thirdsie, and the feeling is mutual.

One day last week, I heard Em laughing hysterically. Then, Thirdsie would follow suit. Em would laugh again, then it was Thirdsie's turn. The laughter came when Thirdsie would pull Em's socks off his feet. That's it. That's all it took.

Think stuffed animals are funny? Em thinks they are quite hysterical, especially when Eldest Son lobs one in the air and it plops into Em's lap while he's sitting in the high chair. Or when Thirdsie tosses one up and it hits the ceiling, then falls to the ground.

Or last night's bathtub experience, when no one, absolutely no one wanted to take a bath, UNTIL I said that Em was taking a bath in the real tub, not his baby tub. Then, I ended up with three little boys in our bathtub. It was quite cramped, but full of fun. You see, that's when Lukie Dukie decided to stick his head under water, come up and spit a mouth full of water at Em, who rolled with laughter. He laughed so hard, he almost fell backwards several times. Good thing Mom was there to catch him.

They say laughter is the best medicine. In our house, it's definite true. The Three Big Brothers love to make Em laugh. The more he laughs, the more they laugh. And Mom and Dad often get in on the fun. Truth is, we love to see all four of them laugh.

Proud of petite progress

Ahhh, Lucas. What can I say really? To know him is to love him.

Little Lucas, tiny and vibrant, skilled yet different. Always stood out. Grabs your heart, twists it and never leaves it the same. Yep, that's my Lukie.

It wasn't very long after his birth that I realized Lucas was different. He whimpered, cried and craved me. He awoke every hour to nurse and couldn't be put down. But it wasn't until after his first birthday that I realized Lucas was really different. Things just weren't right. I'd only had one other kid, but I knew in my mamma heart that my quiet, backward toddler wasn't where a 2-year-old needed to be.

At his 2-year well child exam, I said as much to Dr. Sorrells, who agreed and pointed me in the direction of First Steps for speech therapy, because my tot was talking. That was the beginning of a long, often discouraging journey that has created moments proud enough to bring mamma to tears.

I cry a lot when I think of the steps Lukie takes in life. I cry for the little boy who works so very hard to take those big steps. I'm crying now. He just does that, ya know?

Lucas was diagnosed with both developmental and speech delays. He had a developmental and speech therapist for more than a year, then he went into the special needs preschool, where he worked at becoming a big boy for two years. Then, he went into kindergarten. Here, he spent another two years developing. Then, we took the very big step of first grade.

Two months into first grade at the parent-teacher conferences, his teacher explained that we would have to look at holding Lucas back again. He just was not progressing, couldn't read and was really struggling to keep up with first grade work. He was just too far behind. She would work with him, she said, and we agreed to do our part. I cried for my little guy. Another big step ahead ...

We got Lucas' report card today. He got an A+ in spelling, B+ in math and a C+ in reading. In previous report cards, Lucas wasn't meeting "grade level expectations." Now, I'm thrilled to report that he's exceeding them. Yes, exceeding, not just meeting -- all in just five months.

When I told my little man how very proud I was of him, he said, "I did good, didn't I?"

Oh, Lucas, you did good buddy. You hit it out of the park.

Lucas has to take very big steps in life. It doesn't come easy, but he works as hard as any little person ever has. He accepts every challenge head-on. It may take time, but he wins the race.

I couldn't be prouder of my tiny, yet tenacious first-grader whose well on his way to second grade.

Don't question maturity

“You know that children are growing up when they start asking questions that have answers.”

— John J. Plomp

“Mom, have you noticed in the past few months if my voice is getting deeper? Because I feel like it has gotten deeper lately.”

Just days past his 11th birthday, I had to stare my oldest son in the face and answer, “No. Not really, but remember, I hear you talk every day so I might not notice it as much as someone who hasn’t seen you for awhile.”

He’s pretty anxious for puberty.

But, really, who isn’t at his age?

Maturity looks pretty good until you reach it.

And to be quite honest, he’s starting to reach it.

I talk to my mother quite frequently on the phone. For the past few months, I’ve talked to her about my eldest son and the changes I’ve witnessed in him. They’ve been behavioral, for the most part, as he takes on chores with zeal and procures model behavior. Funny thing is that I was just thanking my lucky stars that one of the three was acting good, and never chocked it up to maturity until a couple of weeks ago.

It happened as I left him at the sitter’s house to head to work. I kissed all three boys, telling my first-grader to behave himself at school and on the bus. When I got to my oldest son, I kissed him on the forehead and said, “Be good.” He replied, “Mom, I’m always good. I don’t get in trouble at school or on the bus.”

There were occasions when he did.

But, he’s right, I no longer have to worry about those things with him.

And as the wheels continued to churn in my head I realized that my son has been maturing right in front of my eyes.

When I run to the store these days, only two little boys run up begging to go. The oldest says, “Mom, I want to stay here.” When he has an issue or a question, he says, “Mom, can we talk in private?” And I was even asked, ever so quietly, to buy deodorant to help with perspiration during August football conditioning.

All of this is new. He’s the first-born, and to be frank, I am used to a myriad of little boy issues. Cuts, scrapes, dirt and tears — got those covered. Now, we’re facing a new frontier.

And although I’m not quite ready to walk down that road, I’m getting there.

My oldest has been fun to raise thus far.

His questions often make me scratch my own head as I search for an honest, yet toned down response to his query. And when he searches his brain for what he deems a grown-up response, yet doesn’t quite get his wording right, I can only smile. He’s helpful, prudent and serious. A friend, in describing his own first-born son, told me, “If there was a cliff, not only would be not go anywhere close to the edge, but he would stand 100 feet in front of the edge and warn everyone else of the impending danger.” That’s pretty much a dead-on description of my own first-born.

But along those same lines, he likes rules. So, obviously, when he’s told at school that x, y and z happens at the onslaught of puberty, then my tween looks for all the signs, and just to be sure he’s noticing, he asks mom. And I like that he does. I like that he’s not afraid of important questions, because I fear that there will come a time when he’s not as open as he is today.

As Albert Einstein once said, “The important thing is not to stop questioning.”

And I’m learning not to question his maturity.

Happiest Baby in the World!!!

Emery smiles a lot. He smiles over nothing. He laughs. He cackles. He literally loves his life. And, to be honest, every one of his smiles makes us smile.

I am convinced he's the Happiest Baby in the World.

And I know he gets it from his Dad, who is the Happiest Daddy in the World.

They smile alike, look alike and I love them both beyond measure.

Having a fourth child isn't a burden. It's a blessing. Emery has blessed our lives, all of our lives. His brothers adore him, and marvel over his every move, and his Dad loves to make him giggle.

We're blessed with a lovely family. Thank you, God.

Forget the dirt, pass the chocolate

It’s a running joke in most large families. You’ve all heard it before or experienced it yourself: The baby of the family is spoiled or treated differently because, by the time mom and dad had him, they were worn out.

I’m here to tell you that’s pretty much true. I’m worn out. Almost daily.

But in all seriousness, it does seem that the more kids you have, the more your parenting style changes.

Let me explain ...

My oldest son hates chocolate. And it’s my fault. Probably not, but I take the blame.

I love chocolate. I think it’s better than just about anything else you can put in your mouth. Just ask my hips.

But when Jacob was a tyke, I wouldn’t let him have candy. No chocolate. No suckers. No nothing. It was bad for him, and I was holding my ground. Now, he hates chocolate. Couldn’t pay the kid to eat a Hershey bar. I doubt there’s truly a direct correlation there, but who knows?

It goes back to my parenting style in those days. I wouldn’t let him have anything but real juice, either. He probably didn’t touch a Capri Sun until he was 5 years old. And he never left the house without his hair in place and his clothes perfectly pressed. We even had designated sand box time to where, I had to have enough time to give him a bath before our next “appointment.”

He was the first child and the only child for four solid years. I even worked part-time while he was young. My entire focus was on that child and making his life as perfect as possible. That meant cutting out sugar and making cleanliness a virtue.

Fast-forward 11 years.

Life has certainly changed.

Capri Sun costs $1.99 a box. We go through several boxes in a month.

Lucas and Alex, sons No. 2 and 3 respectively, have been known to wear super hero costumes to the grocery store or just about anywhere. When they want to wear their rubber boots, I say, “Why not?”

Suckers are the least of my worries.

And the boys have been known to get in the sand box before church, but only if I don’t catch them first.

I’ve certainly become more lax — at least with some things.

Each family has a value system.

There are things in each family that parents find important and refuse to give up. Some of the smaller things, I’ll admit, seem to fall by the wayside as more kids join the fold.

We have a lot of things we value in our family. Take respect, for example. We command respect. And family meals are integral. We don’t eat in front of the TV in the living room. Even if it’s a McDonald’s night, it’s consumed at the dining room table. Video games aren’t played in church, and we don’t spend hundreds on each kid for Christmas and birthdays.

But if you want to dress up like Batman and wear your skull-dotted rubber boots to the grocery store, who am I to complain?

Before I had children, I would look at my niece and nephew and say, “My kids will never walk around with snot dripping from their nose.” And as much as I try to curb that, it happens. Kids are kids, and snot happens.

I just choose not to sweat the little things anymore, and that’s certainly going to manifest itself when it comes to my children.

Some would argue I’m treating my kids differently, and in a way, I am.

But mostly, I’ve just swallowed a chill pill and decided that enjoying them is way better than fussing over a little dirt.