Pittsburgh Mom dot Com 12/06/2011

Any Moms and Dads out there want to give me advice for enduring the climate in the bleachers when seated near a parent who can't hold it together?

Here's my most recent post for Pittsburghmom.com.

There's always a new experience in the world of career parenting.

I'm clueless when it comes to bleacher etiquette.

Emily Post me on the ins and outs of being a proper spectator.

Basketball Tourney: Through Harper's Eyes

This weekend marked another "first" for Harper. We generally think of "firsts" as those milestones which happen to our babies and toddlers, but trust me. "Firsts" continue.

Even long into adulthood.

But I digress.

So, Harper. Right? We were talking about her.

Harper played in her first basketball tournament this weekend. I thought, rather than share my take on the experience, I would interview her. So, here goes.

Mom: Harper, you played 3 games this weekend. How are you feeling?

Harper: Well, the first game I felt a little nervous.

Mom: That's funny, 'cause during the first game, you were totally trying to pick-off the girls who towered over you. I was like, "Is that my kid going up against the giants?"

Harper: But I got used to it, so that's when I started doing that.

Mom: So, your nerves settled down?

Harper: Yeah, but in the second game, I had to come out because Coach put me on point-guard, and I was so nervous about being point-guard because when we had a scrimmage against West Allegheny, they took the ball from me every time. I was so nervous, I had to ask the ref if I could go out.

Mom: Yeah, we figured that. You were doing great, though. So, what do you like playing better? Point-Guard or Guard?

Harper: I like playing Guard because I'm more used to playing that.

Mom: Did you enjoy the whole "weekend tournament" deal? Being a part of a team and playing together for three games?

Harper: Yeah, I liked the whole weekend tournament thing. I thought it was fun because I'd never done it before. But I was actually a little nervous, too. And I think playing on a team is really fun because I know all the girls from my school. So I know all of them which helps a lot.

Mom: Is basketball a sport you would like to continue, or are you thinking of returning to tennis?

Harper: I REALLY want to continue basketball because it's such a fun sport. And I don't think tennis is fun anymore, so why would I return to it?

Mom: What would you like to improve in your game?

Harper: What I think I need to improve is learning what to do when the Coach yells plays, because I had no idea what to do the first game. I didn't know where I was, or what I was doing, and I think I just need to learn that better.

Mom: So what you are saying is that you are willing to learn?

Harper: Well, duh.

Mom: It's been a pleasure talking with you today Harper. May I share with you my favorite point of the weekend? Or will that embarrass you?

Harper: No, go ahead.

Mom: Ok, so you were out there guarding on Friday night and you didn't stand still for a moment. You were totally blocking anyone who came your way! And then, out of nowhere, you started to guard this girl who was almost double your size. I was like, "What is she doing" and then, YOU STOPPED HER WITH YOUR BODY! She was certainly shocked, as was I. You played really strong on defense. That was pretty cool for a parent to watch.

Harper: Thank you.

And, this has been . . . Basketball Tourney: Through Harper's Eyes (and, of course, mine as well.)

Harper's Baptism, Take Two

Yes, she was baptized as a baby, but that was more of a decision we made on her behalf. Infant baptism doesn't hold any "magic" power. It was a public profession of OUR faith. It was during Harper's infant baptism that we communicated our commitment to introduce Harper to Jesus.

Ten years later and Harper shares with us that back when she was in 2nd grade she asked Jesus to be her Saviour.

She is not very vocal or overtly emotionally expressive when it comes to her faith in Christ, so when the opportunity to be baptized on Easter presented itself, we sat down to talk with her about making a public profession of her faith.

We wanted to make sure that if she did decide to get baptized it wasn't because she thought WE thought she should or because it would please her Grandparents or friends. It needed to be her decision and hers alone. So we talked about her "story", which went back to the years when she struggled with social anxiety. A very touching part of this story included the influence of our neighbor, Martha, who has made a huge impression on Harper - something we hadn't realized until we sat to chat about her faith.

After much consideration, she decided to be baptized, and we felt that she was ready to do so based on how she expressed herself to us.

George would already be up helping for the ceremony, so I asked Harper if she'd like me and her brother to join her as well.

No.

We could tell she didn't want this to be a drama-filled event. She didn't want to be surrounded by us, which would only increase the attention. It was very "matter of fact" for her. A next step.

We followed her lead - didn't make a huge deal, no gift, no fawning over her. Nothing that would serve as a means of "influencing" her.

When her name was called, she bounced up there, hopped in, smiled, and then, dunk! This, from a girl who used to struggle and hesitate to do anything in front of crowds.

Yes, I cried. Am I proud? That's an interesting question. I am not as much proud as I am filled with joy that she has chosen to profess her young faith by this means. When folks say, "You done good, Mom!" I cringe. Yes, I pray for her, and we do our best to be in the Word and address daily issues from a Christian perspective, but strip all that away and really it's just her and Jesus. Strip that back even more and you hit a bigger truth.

It's not about us.

It's not about Harper.

It's ALL about Jesus.

So, I'm proud of Him. For dying. And then conquering death. So that Harper may live.

On the Eve of Having a 10 Year Old

I look forward to it every year.

And then I tear up.

See, it took me 10 years of marriage before God laid it upon my heart to have children.

The day I finally told George I was ready, by sharing with him that I really liked the diaper pack made my Eagle Creek, he was shocked.  And elated.

And then came Harper.

Recently, I interviewed her for PittsburghMom.  I'm not one of those Moms who does this every year or keeps track of their answers when I do remember to interview my kids.  This, year, however, I did remember to climb up in her loft bed to interview her.  I had a post due - Harper would serve as my topic.

The answer to one question in particular really got my attention and affirmed what God had been telling me lately.  Harper shared that her favorite thing to do with me, is sit in her bed at night to talk.

We used to do this all the time when she was younger, but this special time has been happening less and less due to my schedule.  However, since beginning a 30 day organizational challenge taught by Chalene Johnson (who I consider to be a fantastic business coach), I have made enormous changes to how I balance working from home AND turning the work OFF during Harper's bedtime.

Last night, as we sat chatting, I was able to share with her a story that I had never told anyone.  Even George.  It was regarding something that happened to me as a very young Christian (13 or 14) that I truly believe was a physical, visual sign from God that He loved me and that He was indeed real.

"Wow.  That is really cool.  And a little creepy" was her response.

I also shared with her how I wasn't particularly kind when I was a 4th grader like her.  In fact, I could be a bit of a snob.  In 5th grade, I'm ashamed (and forgiven) to say that I was awful to a girl in my class for the better part of the whole year, only to learn later on that her father was physically abusive to her.

Ouch.  Such guilt.

We talked about God's forgiveness - me and my girl, and she thanked me for sharing with her.

"You need to tell me this stuff more often.  'Cause I'm not like you were in 4th grade."

No, Harper, you aren't.

You are kind.  You are funny.  You are sad when people are sad.  You are positive.  You are dramatic (yes, honey, you are - sorry - you have my blood).  You are brave.  You are creative.  You also get nervous some times - but not like you used to - remember those days?

I love you, baby girl.

Yes, I said it.  BABY girl.  You were the first baby I ever had, and the picture above is my absolute favorite of you during your first week out of the womb.

I'll see you on your bed tonight, OK?

The Reason I Started Blogging In The First Place

I started my blog back in 2001 as a means of keeping my family updated on Harper.

Since then, it has morphed into a "coffee house" of sorts,  a place where one goes to shoot the breeze with a friend.  I'm all over the place on topics.

But, now and then, my kids say something that I want to remember, and thus, you're stuck reading their cute little quotes.

Harper
George and Harper were preparing to leave for her 4th grade camping trip.  He, as a chaperone, planned to drive them to school the morning they were to board the bus for the trip, thus leaving his car parked in the school lot.  Harper, having lived 9 years of her life in a larger city, anxiously inquired,

"Are you sure that's ok? I mean do they have long term parking???!!!"

Zane

Always the mommy-lover, we were on a hot chocolate date when I began to get emotional over how old he is getting.  Six in January.  I can hardly believe it.  When I mentioned my excitement and my sadness about him growing up, he met me with,

"Mom.  You can still hug me until I get really old and move out and live next door to you.  You know, when I'm 40."

Old Home Week

(Sigh)

That is all I heard from Harper upon driving away from her former elementary school during a weekend trip to Evanston.  A glance in the rear view mirror revealed Harper fighting to keep the tears from exploding.

"How do you feel?"

"I miss my friends."

We had just experienced the most beautiful, "could only have been orchestrated and crafted by God" moment at Lincolnwood school where we had made an appointment to spend some quality time with the BEST first grade teacher ever in the history all of first grade teachers in the world.  No, this is not hyperbole.  Please.  Until you get yourself some Ms. Beckstedt, you have NO IDEA of the truth I speak.

After chatting away with Ms. B, we stepped outside and received a gracious gift from above.  ALL of Harper's old buddies were on the playground.

Ok, if the statement about Ms. Beckstedt was hyperbole, THIS isn't.

Amidst screams of "HARPER!!!!!" and "You're back!!!!!" were hugs and laughter. Harper held court  for 45 glorious minutes.

We took ample photos.  I witnessed many sprints across the playground as Harper spotted and ran to hug one friend after another.

My heart was full.  And heavy.  For I knew we'd have to leave shortly.

As we drove off, the car became silent.

Thankfully, we were on route to Izzy's house (a stellar piece of planning on my part).  Izzy and Harper are approaching 10 years of friendship. Yes, those friends at school who lavished so much love on my girl are special and unique and will always hold a place in Harper's heart and memory, but how do you describe the beauty of HISTORY to a 9 year old?  For this gig with Izzy?  It's the real long-term deal.

I felt the same sentiments upon visiting our old condo building late one night during our trip (thank you Bernstein's for the midnight playdate).  For this was where our family began.  This was where Harper and her friend Alli (only three weeks apart) grew both in and out of the womb. Running up those stairs to visit with Alli and her parents was completely like "old home" week.  HISTORY.

How do you explain to a 9 year old, who as my friend Judie put it, "lives for each moment", that the lasting friendships, those that matter, will always be there? The Izzy's.  The Alli's.  Couple that with the fact that George and I actually have a relationship with both girl's parents spanning back 10 years, and, well seriously?  These peeps are solids.

Unfortunately, I think it took me 40 years to "get" friendship.  And as I chatted with girlfriend after girlfriend during our visit, I was warmed inside.  No, we don't live in Evanston any longer, but not once did my conversations with old friends seem choppy, uncomfortable, or stilted.   I came home to Beaver knowing that my friendships, the HISTORICAL ones still had depth.  What are miles?

I made a commitment to Harper to let her email friends once a day AFTER all other homework and chores have been completed.  I also challenged her to use the phone more often (she can't stand it).  I must remain committed to assisting her in keeping these friendship alive - just as I have worked so very hard to do for myself.  For me, Facebook, texting, this blog - they are connections to the people I love.

As we pulled into Beaver, I wondered what type of reaction Harper would have.

"We're home!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"

No tears.

It was a defining moment.  For I now know, without a doubt, that she feels planted here.  And while there are roots in Evanston that will forever connect her to Chicagoland, she does indeed feel at home.

Here.

And She's Off!

I'm wiped out.

It was a very late night, or rather, early morning.

A restless 9 year old battled bouts of anxiety and excitement until at least 2 AM as her mind raced about the upcoming trip to Grandma's house.

Sans parents.

While she finally slept.  I didn't.

It wasn't that I was particularly nervous for Harper's week-long adventure in Ocean City with my parents, but rather, my own mind battled missing her.

Yes, the week away is giving me some more one on one time with Zane:  an uninterrupted play-date with his best Beaver pal, art class, plus a few other tricks I have up my sleeve, but having Harper take off alone is the first step in her developing an independence - that I want her to have - and yet, don't.

She was so ecstatic as she met me bedside this morning to hug and kiss me goodbye, "Mommy, we're leaving for the airport now."

Wow.

And then there was the email I got later in day describing how her first plane "took forever" to leave the runway.

But an email just wasn't going to cut it for me.

By 8 PM, I had to hear her voice.  She sounded amazing.

Amazingly old.

And then, she showed me just how much her family means to her.

"Mommy, put Zane on. I need to talk to Zane."

I overheard bits and pieces of their conversation.  She asked if he was having fun and what he did today (he was stripping the stairs with George) and then responded by telling him how cool it was that he was helping Daddy with the stairs.

See, he cried in his room this morning when he realized she wasn't home when he woke.  He also had a hard time comprehending how Dad was able to drive my mom and Harper all the way to Ocean City and make the return trip by the time he woke up.  The entire morning confused him.

Harper knew Zane would be sad, for they hang out together every morning before I wake up, and thus she made a point of making sure she spoke to him this evening.

I love that they love each other.

This is Harper's first trip away without us.  It is so important for her.  It is so important for us.  It's just mind boggling to me that we are at this age.  The age at which we've begun discussing human development, problems with friends, and the all too familiar "what makes me nervous" discussions.  So far, we have managed to create a very open atmosphere of communication, where every question deserves an answer - even if it freaks me out to have to answer.

There's that tug of wanting to continue holding my baby, and wanting her to branch out.

Today was a pretty long branch for my girl.

And I am very proud of her.

And You Are . . .?

When we first moved to Beaver, the kids would complain about walking everywhere.  Which is funny, because having lived in Evanston, that's what we'd do.  Park at the church, and then walk.  Everywhere.

After almost a year of living here, I think the kids have finally gotten the memo that I will NOT be plopping them in the car for a quick trip to the bank, the post office, or even Beaver Super.

So, knowing that they still tend to whine and complain a bit when we walk (and in their defense, I am a a very fast walker) I was completely dumbfounded, surprised, elated, and proud when Harper ran her practice 5K on Thursday.

Since I was down with a mysterious foot pain, and needed to stay off it in prep for my leg of of the Pittsburgh Marathon, Harper ran her first 3.1 with one of the Girl On The Run helpers who is a Senior in High School. For three miles, she ran. And talked. The entire time. Stopping only for a 30 second breather. She ran strong and finished well in about 35 minutes.

George and I never realized that she could run like this. Coach said she has the "gift" of running - someone who just does so effortlessly. We're not to tell her this.

Yet.

Got to meet another side of my dear girl that night.  

And who are you, Zane? My little man who woke up Wednesday morning, petrified about performing in the school show. Zane who remained wrapped in a blanket on his bed, with his little head peaking out, sharing with me how scared he was to be in front of all the people.

Zane chose to "be a snake" (in his mind - he didn't dress like a snake - but somehow "being a snake" helped him cope), and entered the sanctuary, took his ribbon, and danced around the maypole with the other children. He stood while singing, even if he barely opened his mouth, said his lines into the microphone, performed hand gestures for songs, and even danced enthusiastically to what I think was a Laurie Berkner tune.

I was shocked.

He did it Zane's way.

Zane's show and Harper's 3.1 are one in the same: the means by which they revealed to their parents a bit more of who they are, and that they can do the unexpected.

THAT's who they are.

Workin' 9 to 5

If ever there was a photo that had absolutely nothing to do with my blog post, this would be it.

Funny movie - and now a musical.

But, nope. It actually serves no real purpose here.

I now have a 9 year old and a 5 year old. OK, therein lies the only similarity between me and this promotional photo for the film.

Moving on.

I have a 9 year old and a 5 year old. Did I already mention that?

I know parents say this all the time as their children grow older, but "I can hardly believe it." Call me cliche. I'm stunned. When did this happen?

I can't stand cliches, so now this post is making me sick. Cliches are only uttered when one knows not what to say. They are pure conversation fillers for dead air. I find them mindless and thoughtless and I can't stand them. And yet, here I am, spitting them up all over the screen.

However, when it comes to my children, MY children, my sentiments aren't cliche. I really am shocked at their development. I look at photographs of Harper from only a year ago and still see the chubbiness in the cheeks of my little wisp of a girl. Now she's all pencil thin, with long legs (that are obviously not mine). She's got a style all her own, dressing all funky-chick-like with the jeans and the Ugg's (hand-me-down Ugg's. Please, like I'd really drop full-price coin on those) and we have even started experiencing, as the Supernanny phrases it, "backchat" from that sweet mouth. Which is far from lovely, I know. But, rest assured, she is disciplined without hesitation each time the words leave her mouth. Not sure when that girl will be allowed back on the Wii. Mom doesn't hand out idle threats. She'd be wise to learn this.

Zane is all, "I can do it myself", which is especially true in the bathroom - thanks to the good Lord and his Doc. I needed to enlist the help of his Doc at Zane's 5 year check-up to convince him that "all the doctor books" state that 5 year old boys can indeed wipe themselves. Doc completely played along with me, and thus, Zane is now set for Kindergarten. He still hasn't lost his love of snuggling, but he has told me, quite emphatically, that I may not kiss him in front of his friends. While I can still scoop him up into a little ball and kiss him all over while we're alone - which he relishes - I know that time isn't on my side anymore. For how is it, and why is it that Zane has learned various pieces of trivia, such as that one should never lift their middle finger?

Hey, I can't regulate everyone else's children. Or their parents.

So, I resort to cliches.

We are entering those years where we will be having to discuss foul language, sex, cheating, body image, drugs . . . you name it. It's coming. To this theater.

And while I boldly state here that I am not scared to engage in these conversations, I have some worry/fear that my kids won't come to me to discuss these topics. However, the difference between my childhood and Harper and Zane's is that I am surrounded by a "great cloud of witnesses" for Christ. My children are honored to have relationships with adult believer's, who, if need be, they can talk to during those moments when they despise their parents.

Yes, it will happen. I am fully confident that I will hit a hic-cup with my kids. I pray that this would not be the case, but, just in case, I am also working towards developing their trust of my friends - other mother's who they deem "cool". And more importantly, who walk with Jesus, and thus, are cool in my eyes as well.

So, while now, I am workin' 9 to 5, those ages will change. In a blink of an eye, (cliche - shudder), 9 and 5 will be 12 and 8. 15 and 11.

But, I don't work alone, people. Walking with Christ isn't a solo position. Nope. George and I may be the project managers of Team Atkins, but we're enlisting the help of our support staff. That doesn't mean that I'll ask M to do the sex talk. She'd faint (jajajajajaja). I won't delegate out the huge tasks. But I do think there is something to be said about working together to raise our children - especially when all of us (at least in my circle) desire to nurture and build up children who love God and love others.

So, you're hired. (You know who you are.)

Clock in.

I'll take a shift for you also.

Get the Lead Out!

You know me by now.

I like a deal.

I'm not cheap, but I like a deal.

Salvation Army and Goodwill are treasure storehouses.

Lower your nose . . . if you wanna be all snooty-pants, then fine. I'll take Ann Taylor for $2.99. You can go and pay a gazillion dollars.

More for me.

Harper turned 9 today. All she wanted was a cover for her tennis racket.

On Tuesday, I realized . . . it's Tuesday. Her birthday is Friday. I live in Beaver.

What does that have to do with anything, you ask?

1. I've left no time to have something shipped
2. Beaver has ONE sporting goods store. Dick's Sporting Goods.

Sure, I could climb Freedom Road and make my way to Cranberry, or run down to Robinson (although I'm not even sure what other sporting goods stores are in those locations). But, I don't have the time in my day to do this. And, I forgot to google, so now I have one store in which to shop.

I get to Dick's only to find that they have no racket covers for purchase. There are covers that come with rackets, but having just bought her one a few months back, this wasn't an option.

Wait. Hers didn't come with a complimentary cover. Hmmm.

"Um, excuse me. We purchased a junior racket for my daughter and few months back. Hers didn't come with a cover. Any chance I can just purchase one of the adult covers that come with some of the other rackets?"

"No. I don't think we could do that. Sorry."

Oh, buddy. A simple "no" isn't going to stop the likes of me.

"Can I talk with a manager?"

Time for the story - keep it real, though. Not to sappy or desperate.

"My daughter turns 9 on Friday and is having a tennis party. All she wants is a cover and as you know, there are no other sporting goods stores in Beaver. You are the only game in town. Hoping you can help me out"

"Well, I don't have any covers for junior rackets. They were recalled for lead. So that's why she didn't get one when you got your racket."

Oh, China.

"So, technically, she should have gotten a complimentary cover with the racket, right?"

With that, he grabbed a few covers off the wall and began matching them up with the racket that we already owned.

"Let's take this one up to the check-out."

Figuring he was going to charge me, I set my price at $10, for he had in his hand what could be considered "top of the line" as complimentary covers go, plus it was larger than a junior racket. And, since I had planned on paying more anyway (had I properly googled), I figured $10 was a good buy. I really didn't want to pay more for this simple, black, padded one. However, I literally had nothing else planned in terms of a birthday gift, so I was praying that I'd get a fair price.

He walked me through check-out and then handed me the cover.

"Happy Birthday to your daughter."

"How much do I owe you?"

"Nothing. Hope she has a fun party."

"Seriously?"

"No problem."

It was the right thing to do, but I was still surprised, seeing as we were in a "big box" sports store. I was also surprised because for a complimentary cover it fits the whole racket, (not just the head), and is padded, with a strap.

China, you must, must, must, stop it with the lead in children's toys and gear. You're going to get yourself a reputation.

Although this time, your blunder worked in my favor.

Thanks Dick's for the perfect gift for my 9 year old.

Forget the almost 30 hours of labor and c-section. That's all behind me now. I fought hard. And just look at my dazzling, precious, priceless prize.

And now, that prize has a cover for her racket.

That Will Be $90

"Memorize your opening line so that you can begin with complete eye contact."

"Underline your key words so that you will remember to emphasize them."

"Great creative use of your own pitch when talking about the highness and lowness of your instrument's pitch."

"Take your time with the gestures. No need to rush."

Last night. Our house. A coaching session with none other than . . . my daughter.

Worlds have collided.

The project? Create an instrument (she chose to make Soda Bottle Pipes) and then prepare a 3 minute presentation about your instrument including information about how it was made, and how it works. Explain various terms such as Volume, Pitch, and Frequency, and show how they relate to the instrument.

She wrote the presentation

She made the instrument with Dad.

Then, she put two and two together and practiced for us.

She has my genes. She spoke way too quickly.

I was just beginning to gently give her some pointers, when, mid-sentence, she stopped cold.

"Wait! Is THIS what you do with kids? Is THIS coaching?"

I wasn't sure if answering "yes" would cause her to reject everything I was about to impart to her about public speaking, or whether she would think it was cool. I went with the truth.

"Yes," I answered. Hesitantly.

"Cool! How much do I owe you?"

$90.

Yeah, you heard me right.

Private lessons don't come cheap.

Are You There God? It's Me, And I'm FREAKING OUT!

It's a really cool feeling to enter your daughter's bedroom in the morning in order to wake her, only to find her already awake and reading in bed. Before school.

"It's time to get dressed, girl."

"No Mom! I just want to read!"

Music to my ears, and yet . . . there are THOSE books lurking on the shelves at the library. The same books I used to smuggle into the house under my mother's nose. My mother, who was incredibly keen, with a great sense of smell. She knew exactly what I was hiding, for she was always one step ahead of me, in terms of knowing what the "hot" books were for young adults.

As an adult, I now realize that adults actually talk to one another and thus, we are not as naive to trends and fads as our youngin's may think. And what we don't know firshand, we'll just learn about from another Mom. And the internet.

Like, which books are hot.

Like, which books you, the parent, should most definitely read first - before your child.

I am not one for censoring reading material. I would much rather read a controversial book myself so that I can actually hold a conversation on the content with my child. Take Twilight. While I don't feel the series is appropriate for anyone in elementary school, you better know that 5th graders are reading it - either with their parents knowledge, or in secret. And if they aren't reading it at home, just know that they are are sneaking peaks at it at school or the library, or a friend's house. And yes, she will read it Mom. Somewhere. Somehow.

So, why not read it first? What are we so scared of?

I did. The entire series. And my kid is barely 9, and not interested. But she knows about Twilight. Ok, not the details of it, but she's heard talk. I figure I might as well be prepared to talk about it, by actually reading the series, as I can't stand the "Well, I heard's" or "So and so said". Just read it, already, so you can have an actual personal opinion about it rather than relying solely on a critique from some internet site. Do your own homework.

Here, on this turf, we're not dealing with Twilight. Harper could care less, right now, with anything having to do with a boy and a girl liking each other in any way other than how well they can battle with light sabers. And honestly, we're not dealing with any other controversial novels at this point in time either.

However, we recently entered into Blume territory at the local library.

Harper has read "Freckle Juice" and the entire "Tales of a Fourth Grade Nothing" series. "Otherwise Known as Sheila the Great" was checked out when it was time to read that one (for those of you who like order), but Harper enjoyed the series so much that she went back to read it even though she had already finished all the other books in the series.

So then what gave me a mini heart attack and the motivation for this post?

"Hey, Mom, here's one here about a girl named Margaret, and God."

Dry mouth. Flashbacks of "I must. I must. I must increase my bust." (It doesn't work).

NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

(Insert Matrixy move to swipe the book out of her hands and then bury it somewhere in the adult non-fiction books about auto-repair or birds of prey - I don't know).

And then of course, there was the close neighbor of Margaret's book: "Forever". Ah, the young adult novel of my generation. The one I snuck into the house after a slumber party with my gymnastic team. The one my mother sweat out of me. I swear she saw me tucking that book into my jacket before I even left my friend's house. She was that good.

And then, I should add - she let me read it.

Thankfully, Harper didn't think that anything about Margaret and God was more interesting that Sheila the Great, so there was no need to get into it with her. And really, I just would have said, "Harps, that book is a little too old for you."

But just thinking about the discussions that are down the pike gave me hives. Once the coast was clear, and Harper had walked away from Blume territory with her Sheila book, I made a beeline to the librarians desk where I started pilfering leftover Halloween candy from her bowl.

I will be counting on the women who have gone before me to help walk me through the whole appropriate reading material discussion that I will one day have with my child.

And until that time, you'll find me hanging out in the children's section of the library reading junior and young adult novels.

Armed and ready.

Locked and loaded.

Reliving those fragile years of my life that I'd rather not relive - well, unless I could relive them with straight feathered hair and Jordache jeans.

Writer's Challenge: A Guest Post By Harper Atkins

I am entering a writer's challenge. My mom talked me in to it.

I said it was MY chose!! But then she said we are a family that tries everything. So now am in a writer's challenge. I have to write about what my favorite place is in beaver county. I am deciding on two places. Castle toys or the little dinner. I thought this was not going to be fun. But it is!!!!!!!!!!!!!

"Hey! Watch where you wave that thing!"

When discussing art we tend to be very subjective. I mean, really, either you like the work. Or you don't.

One person's take on what makes a masterpiece is different from another person's impression.

It comes down to opinion, doesn't it?

Unfortunately, we allow pieces we don't like to cloud our overall perception of the artist.

Where am I going here?

Piss paintings.

Warhol's "Oxidation" series.

Backing up.

So, I really wanted to take the children to the Warhol. Harper had a blast recreating one of his Campbell Soup Cans last year in art class, and since she is familiar with the artist, and since I really want to give them a broad understanding that everyone creates differently, we decided to hop downtown to the Warhol.

Now, prior to going, I had already heard a variety of comments from folks ranging from, "I don't like that place." to "My kids spent 30 minutes in the Silver Cloud room." Complete opposite ends of the spectrum.

And I respect differing opinions of what does and what doesn't constitute art. Like I said, it is a subjective medium.

While walking the museum, and, yes, quickly u-turning on the balls of my feet while scooting the children around and out of certain galleries not meant for young eyes, I realized something new.

Art is one way of revealing how God wires all of us uniquely from one another.

I was taught early on in my parenting journey never to ask, "What are you drawing?" while watching Harper doodle. Instead, I have always used the phrase, "Tell me about that." See, for people like me, who are wildly opinionated, asking my child what they are drawing leaves too much temptation for me to actually answer the question for them by interjecting WHAT it is I think they are drawing. For Zane especially, something that may resemble a sun, might really be a prickly-super-alien-monster from the planet of Juehtlsteirnwe. So why ruin that interpretation by telling him I like his "sun"?

But, you didn't come here to read all that. You want me to get to the good stuff.

The piss paintings.

Just hold it (ha), will ya, I'm not ready yet.

The children enjoyed the silkscreens of Elvis (Zane even sat down and sketched one out, and now, apparently wants to be a cowboy), Michael Jackson (during his better days in life), and I loved seeing and hearing Judy Garland. It was cool to show Harper photos of Blondie and Joan Jett, as she knows their music. Warhol's interest in taxidermy didn't go unnoticed by my lion loving son who reveled in seeing the stuffed beast above his head in a stairwell. Psychedelic lights were fun to hop and and "catch".

And the Silver Cloud room? A hit. Confession. I stepped out of the camera range in order to take a few photo's of the kids playing in this room. Flash off. I'm not dummy. Zane, especially fell in love with this room, exclaiming, "I am marrying a cloud", as a he waltzed around to room leading a huge silver Mylar balloon around the dance floor. Harper practiced The Force on a few balloons by magically lifting them into the air by merely holding up her hand to guide the balloon (without touching it) to the ceiling.

We found the Soup Can's. And skulls. And Mick Jagger in drag.

And piss paintings.

Upon coming to a piece from his Oxidation series, I asked the kids to guess how they thought he got the effect he did. Harper thought he threw paint. It was kind of Jackson Pollock'y in nature.

Well, in a metallic copper paint and urine type of way.

I explained the true process and got the expected giggles, and "gross" and "eww's" - you know, the responses you'd expect to hear from kids when you tell them that an artist, and his assistant's, peed on the painting.

They asked why, and I simply shared that he wanted to see the effect of the urine and the paint mixed together. Seriously, what else was I going to say. Just hoping Zane wasn't secretly intrigued by the process.

I didn't interject whether I thought it was odd. Or wrong. Or "crazy". I didn't interject my opinion at all, which is difficult for me. Had I done so, I would have been leaving them with my impression of Andy Warhol, stunting their ability to arrive at their own opinion of his work.

Harper read a book about Warhol all the way home. I am very excited over this series of books, and have already purchased three more about Pablo Picasso, Georgia O'Keefe, and Jackson Pollock, for Christmas.

Funniest quote of the outing came from Harper while lunching in the cafe where they were selling delicious looking cupcakes. Each cupcake had a special name. One style, of which there were several, was called the "Elvis".

"Mom, if Elvis was so famous, why isn't his cupcake selling?"

Laughed so hard I almost peed.

Surprising Palettes

There are times when the reactions of my children throw me for a such a complete loop that they cause me to glance in the rear view mirror to confirm that the cargo in the backseat does indeed resemble my actual offspring rather than some other rug rats that have just happened to stow away in my car.

Take Sunday. Zane has taken a liking to classical music. No big deal. He has always enjoyed the sounds of classical music. I've not played it for him as often as I would like, only because all my classical music is on cd's and I don't have a cd player anywhere in the house, or in the car. I just need to take the time to upload them to Itunes. But really, having a kid enjoy classical music really isn't a "WOW". Seriously, parents, just because your kid finds Mozart fascinating does not a music genus make. Sorry to burst your bubble.

However.

I would say that having your kids bite your head off for changing the station during Renaissance Madrigal music is a tad bit surprising.

So, we're driving to church and I have on the classical station and the kids are listening and are stone quiet. Zane keeps asking "is this one my favorite one?" (referring to a piece he had heard the day before) and whether we can pause it until after church. A piece ends.

Madrigal music begins.

I assume that my kids may not enjoy it and switch the station.

"MOM! WHAT ARE YOU DOING! TURN IT BACK!"

Um, what?

Both of them gang up on me, yelling for me to return to the station with, as Zane puts it, "the music that they are singing to God."

Ok.

I'm thinking they would like Taize worship.

The alien abduction of my children continued through dinner as we dined on Tilapia, whole grain brown rice, and steamed green beans.

Again, not really so "WOW" unless you possess the background information that Zane is Mr. Seriously Picky, and yet, on this particular Sunday, he and Harper actually argued over who got more fish on their plate. More FISH.

I'm keeping my eye out for pods.

How have your children suprised you today?

Super Week

This week we experienced a completely new twist on the old idea of vacation bible school. Thinking out of the box, Four Mile created Super Week - a vacation bible school for families. Here are a few thoughts on why this new take on a classic program worked.

Schedule

Rather than having a program solely for children, Four Mile took a risk and organized a family program which took place every night from 6-8.

The evening began with dinner, provided by the church, so that those coming straight from work wouldn't have to worry about getting everyone fed and out the door on time. After dinner and a sketch, the children went off to class, and the adults stayed put, listened to some teaching, and then broke into small groups for discussion.

The evening then ended with children and adults meeting in the sanctuary for a time of worship together.

Families eating together, learning together, and worshipping together. Brilliant.

Creativity

This was the first VBS I attended where the material didn't come from a box. No packaged lessons or music. Rather, the theme of the week centered on our church's purpose to Celebrate, Connect, and Contribute.

By using a superhero theme, our church staff created the characters of Celebrato, Connectra, and the Contribunater - these superhero's battled adversaries in a sketch every evening. The sketches were short, to the point, entertaining, and included the element of repetition from night to night so that the children were engaged and clear on what was happening in the storyline.

We even watched animated shorts prior to the sketches which enlightened us to the back stories of these superheroes. Catchy. Clever.

Our Director of Worship wrote a theme song for the week, "I Wanna Be a Superhero", which everyone learned. Worship always began with this song. Upon entering the sanctuary last night I spotted Harper up front with the worship leader and other children leading the congregation in this song, complete with hand motions. How do you think that made me feel? She is feeling confident and connected.

We then continued in worship by simply using the same songs we sing on Sunday mornings.

Continuity

Both children and adults received the same memory verse each day - with the children receiving a simpler version.

It was nice to know that the children were being taught the same lesson that we were - which made for good discussion afterwards.

The entire evening was tight. It flowed. There was a unity of purpose. The community, young and old, were all learning together.

Zane has found worship to be a little too loud for his liking, so we've gotten in the habit of bringing a notebook and markers for him. He astounded us yesterday by writing letters and words all over the pages of his notebook. We were shocked. I've not even worked with him on letters. He wrote "Zane", "Harper", "Mom", and "Dad". He is never without his notebook. Always drawing. Always writing. We think this calming activity is really helping him.

So, Harper led worship this week. Zane just *poof* started writing. Out of the blue. She and Zane are memorizing scripture.

I would say it was a super week.

Really Tall Stuff

Harper used to be fearful of new things.

Apparently, she has scaled that mountain.

On July 4th, she took on a 25 foot climbing wall outside Heinz Field in Pittsburgh.

The last time she attempted a climbing wall was last October at the First Focus retreat. I was totally excited to see her attempt something as new as this back then.

This time, I was completely dumbfounded at how she attacked the hurdle. On her first try, she got half way, turned to look down (not helpful at all), freaked a bit, and lowered herself to the ground.

Not to be outdone by the kid next to her, so got back on and began climbing again. Just a third of the way left, she exclaimed, "I can't do this! It's too hard!"

We told her she was fine and that she COULD do it.

And she did. This photo shows her clinging with her right hand, while swinging over to hit the buzzer with the left.

At which point, the crowd broke out into cheers.

"That felt good" was her response - to both the task and the encouragement from the crowd.

She's not scared of heights, as say, George is. High places don't stump her sense of courage. So, the actual 25 feet of the climbing wall was not a foe to her.

For Harper, the "height" is her ability to believe and thus lean into the truth that God did not give her a spirit of timidity, but rather, one of power, and love, and self-discipline.

We all have fear of something taller than us.

Harper has only recently begun conquering her fears that paralyzed her from trying anything new for years. After some good work in her life by God, us, family, friends, and professionals, she has broken quite a few of the plaster shells that engulfed her from ages 4-7. If you were to meet her today for the first time, you would never believe that this was a child who used to be plagued by anxiety.

Zane has just begun confronting his "heights". A new town. A new home. A new room. New friends - who don't yet feel like real friends even though they are nice as can be . . . how can you really replace a Schuyler, Will, Jonny, Brady, Dmitry, Zachary, or Alex?

This change has been monumental in his little life. A big, giant-like change, with Zane looking up at the monster and exclaiming, "I don't like you." Everyday is different for the little guy. Time to teach him about David and Goliath.

Today he played in the pool for hours, just paddling away ALL BY HIMSELF while wearing his bubble. I wasn't even in the pool with him (yes, I was close by), for I needed to give him the sense that he could conquer those things which have, in the past, made him nervous. Swimming, being one of them. With the help of Harper, and our 11 year old neighbor, Zane became quite comfortable in the water, scooting here and there with a huge smile glued to his face.

It exhausted him. He is now quietly playing lego's in the buff.

He has also started gymnastics. He is attentive in class, enthusiastic, and shares that he "could do the rings all day long." At the first class he wanted nothing to do with the beginning stretches, and stood to the side drawing pretend circles on his palm with his finger, which is his non-verbal way of communicating anxiety. At the second class he did every ounce of the class, and came bounding out afterwards yelling, "I did it all! I did the whole class!"

He is climbing his own walls. Takin on his own really tall stuff. And he too, in an attempt to reach the top, will experience a moment (or two) of intense fear and regret, will want to give up, and yet, force himself to hang on and hit the buzzer.

We're not waiting for the buzzer, however. We're already cheering him on.

Have I shared lately how much I love my children?

Guest Post by Harper Atkins

Go on over to George's blog to read another guest post by Harper.

It is an incredible feeling to watch her grow. It's a blessing to see God work in her life.

I wasn't present at the game to which she refers in the post, but I did get the play by play via phone.

Next time, I am in the stands, hootin' and hollerin' like the crazy lovin' mama that I am!

Her Dance Card is FULL

Anyone up for a stroll down memory lane?

I am.

June, last year. Harper. The school dance. A difficult night.

Compare this experience to Friday night.

April, this year. Harper. The school dance. A terrific night.

Of course I was sick and had to miss this "she's come full circle moment", but as George put it, "Well, you got to be there for her first communion. So, God gave me this one."

Touche.

As he explained it over the cell phone in the middle of gym full of K-3rd graders, with DJ music thumping and the overwhelming sounds of screaming, laughing, and yelling, Harper was in her element. I was very thankful that he called to give me the report in the midst of the moment. He couldn't hear my response of glee, but I could hear his every word.

Led to the floor by Miss Beckstedt, first grade teacher extraordinaire and forever and ever in our gratitude for the work she did in Harper's life last year, Harper, while at first a bit timid, released that fear and just took off poppin' and lockin' (in her own way) with her friends.

Word on the street is that at one moment, all her friends were surrounding her as Harper break danced in the middle of a circle.

Upon her return home, Harper shared with me that she did the running man, the moonwalk, break danced, the cha-cha slide, and had a blast during all of it.

"What was so different this year, Harper?" I asked.

"I've grown up. I'm confident."

Perhaps I'll have little Miss confident explain it in her own words in a guest post. We'll see if she can leave the dance floor behind for a bit in order to share her experience here.

Stay tuned.

Light is Light

Light is light. No matter how dim, no matter how bright.

Light is light.

I found myself saying this to a friend today. A friend, who in the midst of his own pain, was able to bless our family with a meal, and took a moment on the phone to ask how we are fairing. George, who was supposed to be in Beaver this weekend, had to call off his trip due to the flu-like symptoms that suddenly took over my body on Thursday. There would have been absolutely no way I could have handled the kids and the care-taking of the house for showings, unless he remained at home. And thus, he did.

And not only did he stay home to help, but our surrounding troops stepped in with hugs, prayer, meals, phone calls from lifelong friends, babysitting for Zane, rides to get Harper to/from a party, more meals, and just your good 'ole down home support. A few friends from church, neighbors, Lincolnwood parents, college buds (Stacey, I will call you back - post illness) and MK ladies all picked up the baton and ran for us. I have a lot of Thank You notes to write. Gladly.

This does a lot to help adjust one's perspective on things. As I said to George earlier, "My perspective on this entire house-selling experience has indeed changed (for the better - although I would never wish selling a home in a recession on ANYONE), even if it doesn't actually relieve the pain." The pain of fatigue, stress (seriously, I think I have mini heart-attacks throughout the day), and more fatigue has taken over my body. I am so far from being the "me" I know myself to be, and am aching, literally aching, for myself to return. For even though I can see pockets of light, I am still in the midst of feeling physical pain.

A new perspective isn't an immediate pain reliever.

God has changed my perspective through His very presence and through the presence of His people. My children are also those people. If you've never thought of your children as being a spiritual support, then I challenge you to listen to them a bit more closely.

I've got my daughter, who before leaving for school, joins me on the bed while I lay there languishing in chills, aches, and fever, so she can read me the 23rd Psalm and share with me that God is Peace.

I've got my son, who shares with us that "I love Jesus so much in my heart" and than taps his head while saying, "I love Him in my mind also."

This same little boy, who at times baffles us with is spiritually mature perspective, also made mention of our friend's grief in losing their newborn baby. Upon my sharing that little Leah is in Heaven with Jesus, he made this remarkably intuitive statement, "That is so sad. But it is so good! Amy's baby is touching Jesus right now because Jesus is the only one who can make her feel better."

Seriously, what is a parent to do with that other than leave the room in tears? And then, before the moment fades, call Leah's parents who love Jesus with their whole being, and yet still bear the pain of loss.

A new perspective isn't an immediate pain reliever.

This type of heartfelt proclamation can not be taught to a child. This is way more internal than I can ever hope to reach in the life of my kids. This is God territory.

I could care less if my kids have the books of the bible memorized, whether they know when the walls of Jericho fell or can tell me on what animal Paul was riding during his conversion.

All of that can be looked up in the Table of Contents or Index.

On the other hand, the prompting of my children to point me towards the light of God is completely spirit-led. No Table of Contents needed. That other stuff will come, but the depth? I'm beginning to see it within them, without their knowing exact bible facts and figures.

I can now see the many lights that God has been planting throughout this experience. He, the Ultimate Light, has also graced me with the light of friendship, the light of encouragement from my children, and the light of confirmation that He has indeed called us to this move.

Light is light. Dim or bright.

Gotta keep my eye on it.