Burdenofglory’s Weblog

Note:  I wrote this the weekend of Rebecca’s tenth birthday, which was October 24th.  I was suffering from double-digit shock, and didn’t get it finished.  Rebecca read my blog last weekend and asked where her birthday pictures were.  This is coming from the child who hates to have her picture taken, and never cooperates.  This weekend I threatened her (again) that when she gets older she will regret having no record of her childhood.  So, because Rebecca asked, here it is.  Even if I’m on “vacation.”

Oh, my, Rebecca.  You’re ten already.  (Shaking head in disbelief.)

Note to readers:  I know everyone is getting sick of me whining about how fast my kids are growing up.  And Rebecca is sick of me calling her the “baby.”

You confirmed little girlhood was only a memory when all you wanted for your birthday was a remote-controlled truck.

You are so amazingly creative.

You really don’t need too much of our input in this area.

You turn every job into an adventure.  (You were supposed to be raking, but you were burying Jake in leaves instead.)

Take, for instance, your job to build “Marble Universe.”  It is definitely a bona fide adventure in our living room.  Send marbles down one way, they head to Georgia.  Send them down an off ramp, and they’re off to South America.

You are truly an amazing medium girl.  No mere “little” girl could have come up with this wonder.

Love,

Your Mama

Maddie drew up plans for an advanced communication system from the house to the fort.  She showed them to me.  I didn’t feel this was the responsibility of my department, so I sent her off to engineering.  After an hour or so, Maddie, Rebecca and Marcus came up with this:

The cousins came over, and they sent several notes back and forth.  Every 15 minutes they came back in to ask for more scratch paper.  They used this thing the whole time they were over, cranking it as fast as they could.  5 hours.  They may have to have corrective surgery when they’re 40.  Hope they don’t remember when they started having symptoms in their wrists, elbows and shoulders.

When we grilled hotdogs, Rebecca put them in the coffee can, and sent them on out to the fort.  Try that with your cell phone.  We warned her to NEVER put a person in the coffee can.  You would think this is something you wouldn’t have to tell a kid, but it is not.

We have heard that every cousin has begged his or her father to replicate our technological wonder, and the fathers have done their best.  We should have patented it.  We just didn’t know.

Feel free to send messages to the fort whenever you stop in.  You’ll just have to sign a few papers limiting our liability for cranking injuries.

I remember how very precious you were when you were born.  You were only 6 pounds, and orange as a pumpkin.

I also remember the first time Dad brought Ashley to the hospital to see you.  She tried to hold you many times after this, and it always made us nervous.

I remember admiring you in a sunny window, hoping it would help your orange tint.

Do you remember thinking Ashley was the best thing since sliced bread?

You would follow her to the ends of the earth.  Or yard.  Whichever came first.

Do you remember becoming a big sister?  Do you remember when Daddy barely looked old enough to shave?

Do you remember the tepee Daddy helped you design?  It looked bona fide.

Do you remember Dad dressing up like Goliath for the Reformation Party at church?  I still remember trying to get the duct tape off his legs.

Do you remember your 5th birthday?  We had a 3-legged race, and we all played sardines.  Suffering codfish.  What a party.

Do you remember the wigs we found in the antique store in Minnesota?

But I really don’t remember when this happened.

Happy 16th birthday, Kattie.  I love ya’ awful.

Friday night I took Katherine out.  Plans with her friend had fallen through, and she needed a change of scenery.  What do you do with an almost 16-year old who looks crestfallen?  Take her shopping.

Katherine has rather long legs, and her jeans from last year used to be full length, but now they look like high-waters.  Sorry, Kat.  I really should have taken you jeans shopping before now.

We don’t have much luck at Southpointe, but it was too late to trudge across town to the other mall.  I always have an excuse not to go there.

Anyway, we found her some LONG sizes at American Eagle.  I don’t love shopping there, but I found her a perfect pair of jeans on the clearance rack for 19.99.  A lot of jean for little money.

I wanted to browse at The Gap before heading home.  They are having 40% off their clearance items, so I thought it was worth it.  I found a few pairs of pants, and went to try them on with my trusty assistant, Rebecca.

We giggled through the 3 pairs, which fit nice, but had a HUGE GAP in the back.  What is wrong with these pants?  Are they supposed to fit this way?  I have enough room to stick a water bottle back there.  After Rebecca finished up putting my discarded pants back on hangers, I told her they call this store THE GAP because of their gappy pants.  She thought that was a good one.

Should I write The Gap’s corporate office with new marketing ideas?  Instead of showing photos of tooth-pick models only from the front, they could get a side view to show the gap in the back.  They could insert trendy water bottles or coffee carafes back there to show how handy that gap can be.  Maybe I should patent my idea, first.  What if  The Gap steals it, and I don’t get any credit?

When I was looking at all those jean models, I had a tremendous urge to cook.  I’ve been having these urges lately, when Ashley brings her starving college friend(s) over.  I just want to feed them, and send more food home with them.  I can’t stop myself.  I’m turning into an Italian grandmother.

At bedtime, Rebecca hugged me and whispered, “Mom, I can’t wait until tomorrow when I can have pop-tarts.”  We only get sugary breakfasts on Saturday, and Rebecca looks forward to her weekly pop tart almost as much as her mama.

Katherine said good night, and told me shopping with me was just as much fun as hanging out with her friend.  Aw, shucks.  Buying a pair of jeans that fit goes a long way.

P.S.  My camera is getting fixed.  It had a black, fuzzy spot on the pictures.  I will have to write instead of relying on photo props.  Sigh.

Photo credits to Haley.

This makes me want to write music.  I would put this picture on the album’s cover.  Maybe it will inspire Maddie, too.

As I watch Ashley turn into (or is already) a beautiful young woman, it is good to look back and remember how far she has come.

I remember this phase vividly.  Ashley was constantly dressing up, usually as a boy, and doing music videos.   I was perplexed, wondering if this was normal, should I be worried, should I forbid it, what is causing this, would her friends’ mothers be perplexed if they knew their daughters were also dressing up like boys at my house…

…but it passed.  There seems to be no residual effects from her dressing-up-like-a-boy-and-making-music-videos stage, either.

Parents need to pick their battles, and it is sometimes difficult to tell which ones to pick, especially with your first children, until the crisis has passed.  I would say I picked many more battles with my first child than the second, third or fourth ones.

In retrospect it seems okay that I didn’t pick the above battle.  It sure made for entertaining pictures and videos for future blackmail.

I am emerging from my Feeling-sorry-for-myself, pseudo-midlife-crisis phase.  It began to set in as my oldest daughter showed bona fide signs of growing up when she started dating and talking about moving out at the end of the summer.

Huh?

Why is this a problem?  Well, I’ve been trying to figure that out.

I know I am mourning our (my) life as we know it.  My Little Women.  All my British orphans with horrid British accents.  All my pupils diligently (not) studying, either in front of the warm fire, or shivering in their rooms.

One of Ashley’s friends suggested that this was a downside of homeschooling.  Homeschool parents just can’t let go, and want to keep controlling our children.  Nice point.  We didn’t have the kindergarten moment, and all the successive moments to help us lessen our grip.  In my defense, I must add that Ashley and Katherine used to ride their bikes down the road and back, like I really was letting them go to school.  Kidding aside, Ashley has many freedoms, like no curfew, to allow her to make good (and late) decisions, while under our roof.  And for the most part, it has been good.

After our prayer meeting today, a dear kindred-spirit mommy hugged me (twice – I must look peaked).  I told her I was better, but I had talked to other moms, and my mourning was not an isolated incident, but rather common.  She told me we didn’t want our kids to make the same mistakes we did.  (Amen) And even if they do make mistakes, God can use them for His good, just like He did in our lives.  We want them to believe us when we say how hard things are when you go down “that” road.  However, from God’s perspective, all is not lost, even when they stumble.  We have the passion for certain ministries God has called us to, in part, because we made BIG mistakes, and can minister out of our brokenness.  (I know.  But my heart doesn’t want my kids to be broken, really.) You know what else she said?  She said Ashley knows what is right.  (This is true.)

Now, like never before, I have to trust God.

I have to trust God that even though this beautiful and incredibly fulfilling season of my life as a mommy who is needed 24/7 will pass, my purpose is not decimated.  God has something equally extraordinary prepared for me in the future.  It won’t look the same, but if I am serving Him wholeheartedly, it doesn’t matter.   I don’t know what that is yet, but I think about it.  Is it urban ministry?  Loving my husband, children, and grandchildren faithfully, and being a light to younger families?  When I look in our church at the Johnsons, who celebrated their 60th wedding anniversary, I know there is much more to come.  And it is good.  But it frightens me, because it won’t be the same.  I feel comfortable with “the same.”  “Unknown” is scary.  I have to trust God with these unknowns.

So, dear first-born, I cannot promise I will always be The Rock, who is always strong for you, and always has it together.   Once in a while, I may still get a bit damp in the eye, and my look will be distant, as if I was remembering something precious.  But there is a growing part of me that looks forward to being the mother of an independent young woman.  And a still smaller part of me, which wonders what God has in store for just me and Him.

OK.  I’ve been tired.  Sleeping seems to be optional lately, from my body’s point of view.  Saturday I noticed that other people in my family are exhausted, too.

Watching the swing dance Friday night (fantastic, by the way), going to archery camp from 8 – 3 on Saturday, and cleaning up for the next graduation bash was the limit for Rebecca.

When Maddie ran to tell me Rebecca fell asleep in the tub, my first response was horror, thinking she had drowned.  However, she had the foresight to drain the water and wrap up in a towel before conking out.  Whew.