Unfailing

The Boy left our home in 2009 due to some extremely poor choices. In the years since, there is often a daily struggle to love him. Not to love the him I wanted him to be, but to just love him on an entirely "as is" basis. (A mother's love is unconditional, but that doesn't mean a mother's heart gives up hope for better conditions.) Through a roller coaster of ups and downs, there has remained a carefully nurtured spark of hope that our family would one day be whole and our son would be a man of integrity following Christ. Time after time, the Boy has heaped sand on the embers of our hope. The mister and I respond by unearthing that glowing coal even though we burn our fingers trying to salvage our hope.
The Boy has been living in a temporary housing situation for the past few months less than an hour from home. The whole family made visits and attended meetings in preparation for his transition home in the Spring. The Boy made one plan after another for his imminent future; yet, none of his plans involved coming home as the season changed. Unfortunately, his plans kept falling through. Finally, he reached the point where it was a choice between the still open door of our home or foster care. And he did not choose home. It was an appalling, heartbreaking, shocking day.
Our current Bible study is over 1 Corinthians, and in the way of such things, exactly the right words were given. The week's study focused on Chapter 13 (here from the NASB):
13 ⁴ Love is patient, love is kind and is not jealous; love does not brag and is not arrogant, ⁵ does not act unbecomingly; it does not seek its own, is not provoked, does not take into account a wrong suffered, ⁶  does not rejoice in unrighteousness, but rejoices with the truth; ^7 [b] bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things.
⁸ Love never fails..." 
How does love never fail when the one loved rejects those who love him? That question is the heart of the sorrow that the Boy desires to remain apart. The particular bit about love never failing does not refer to our failure to love our son. It translates to not collapsing. We have not collapsed, but have held firm in our love for our challenge child. Christ died on a cross for those who will accept the sacrifice, but He didn't avoid the cross though there are those who will reject His sacrifice. That is the essence of our relationship with our son. We will make sacrifices for him, and we will love him despite rejection because our love refuses to fail.

Good News

Good News:
1. I'm not pregnant. (I know you were sweatin' that one.)
2. Tornadoes failed to carry off our house, and the termites have yet to take it down.

Speaking of good news, Sunday was Easter. We dressed up, went to church, and then crept around the side of the local nursery to take pictures with the daughters muttering about, "... getting busted," for being there when the business was closed. We were in the parking lot- hardly breaking and entering. We were not arrested, or even interviewed, for trespassing though there were two patrol cars in the very next parking lot. (Living dangerously!) Still, in keeping with the times, we should definitely post the pictures of our illicit visit online.

Easter Dress... and to the back left... stacks of mulch.

I see the woman she is becoming so clearly in this image.

This is what the mister and Perfect did while the assorted females were dress shopping.

Okay, so the last one wasn't part of our wild (*cough*) photo shoot at the nursery. It also has nothing to do with Redemption, Easter, or Jesus. Oh, wait... the ladies were shopping for Easter dresses. So, there you go.

Coaching

The Skate Coaches signed off on the application for Off-Campus Physical Education next year. If the school district approves the application, then Skater Girl can avoid the horrors of dressing out and a gym that reeks of Eau de Feet. The Skate Coaches are heroes, and only partially because my kid may avoid the ick-factor of the middle school locker room. It's a very good thing to see the positive reinforcement and encouragement they shower on Skater Girl. Some days, I just want to cheer for the coaches because they are building up our girl in ways that extend beyond her skating technique.

After a day heavy with skating and skating-related administrative tasks, Middle Child came home and announced that she's thinking of quitting Cross Country. I'm not sure what to make of that because she's the first to admit that much of her identity is tied up in athletics. More importantly, she has spent years running because she loves it. Now, she says she doesn't love running, and, worse, that it's become a source of stress. I'd like her coach to understand that she's not motivating my kid and her version of discipline has sucked the joy out of the workouts that have long fueled Middle Child.

This weekend is our school's home meet, and Middle Child's Other Mother/small-group-leader-at-church-for-the-past-four-years will be volunteering. That's a chance for that Other Mother (OM) to break out the Rah-Rah at least. Plus, this particular OM also happens to be a former co-worker and current friend of the CC/Track Coach. Maybe the OM can shed some nonprejudicial light on whatever is going on with our kid and her coach because all I know is what I'm hearing from the runner girls. (Let's face it, the court of public opinion can be absolutely wrong when assigning motive. And this court is full of teenage girls...) Right now, the hope is simply that our girl chooses to stay with the athletic program for at least the Cross Country season next Fall before deciding to hang up her competition spikes.

Waiting

Dr. Seuss's Oh, the Places You'll Go!, refers to Waiting Places. (One does tend to wind up there from time to time.) Despite a range of dates, we're stalled in one such Waiting Place for answers as to when The Boy might be home.  The insurance company required a switch to their in-house pharmacy for I.V. medication infusions this year, and January saw a four day wait for the administration. February's wait is at a week and counting... That Waiting Place leads to the waiting room outside my doctor's office this morning to determine whether or not a cold has blossomed into an ear infection. Waiting on a friend's medical scan, is now waiting on an appointment with a Specialist because the scan revealed more questions rather than answers. These are the gloomier sorts of Waiting Places.
Thankfully, there are other sorts. Like waiting for the coffee to brew. The wait for Shelley-in-Poland and Laura-in-Honduras and I to catch up in person while they're on their furloughs to Pleasant Suburb. The wait for the belt/blanket to develop into a string, then a belt, and now onward to who-knows-what. The wait while Skater Girl practices her stroking, spins, and jumps toward her first big skating test and resuming competition. The wait for Middle Child to come home and launch into her play-by-play of an evening at Perfect's house. Or her day at school. Or why she loves purple. My turn for the next move in Words With Friends. The in-between days waiting for Wednesdays and Saturdays when the mister and I have our dates. Opening each morning's Bible study e-mail from the church to see what little gem is waiting inside. These are the best sorts of waits. These are the anticipatory Waiting Places full of promise and potential.
That's the thing. In these Waiting Places, there is no one simple thing. There is more likely to be a whole host of just about everything. So. I'll gather my things, and sit down to wait. Eventually, it will all shake out. If not, at least we'll know what becomes of the belt/blanket with the addition of a few more rows.

Gifted and Talented

Every other year the paperwork is submitted for Skater Girl's GT testing. Every other year the committee informs us that she's just not Gifted and Talented material. One of my BFFs (who works for the school district and has two children in the program) and every single one of Skater Girl's teachers seem convinced that the kid is a fit for the program; therefore, we persist in filling out the paperwork to avoid robbing our daughter of an opportunity.

There's a fatalistic attitude toward the testing in our household based on the repeated rejections. Still, we fill out the pages and pages of redundant information required to request that Skater Girl be considered. (The mister and I theorize that filling out the application is a means of weeding out applicants based on whether or not their parents possess a vocabulary sufficient to restate the same things over and over again in different words.) The program claims to serve the quirky, creative student who enjoys exploration. Thus far, the Powers That Be have not seen that in Skater Girl.

Still, yet another of her teachers took the time to contact us asking that we submit the referral forms. He says this year could be different because the middle school program is offered in individual subjects. Whatever the outcome, there is one clear benefit in the process. Having to cite specific examples of the applicant's supposed genius means recognizing the strengths of the child. The examples taken from Skater Girl's interests in music, creative writing, and skating paired with her teacher's classroom observations, high grades, and test scores combine to present a bright, capable young lady developing a variety of talents and abilities. Whatever the findings of the GT Identification Committee, Skater Girl's application reveals that she is both gifted and talented.

Picture Post: Sample

Just one little picture tonight, but more to follow with the silliness of the test shots and the sweetness of the darling duo heading off for their big night out.

Middle Child and Perfect at the Village

Blanket

Middle Child and I are planning to try our hands at quilting. My great-grandmas, grandma, and mom have all successfully created heirloom quality quilts. Middle Child has recently discovered a talent for hand stitching in her Technical Theatre class, and this seems like a fun project for us to take on together. My Mom (a.k.a. Grandma) is sending us a care package of supplies to encourage our new hobby.

Today, I ended up with a crochet hook and a skein of yarn because I'm in the mood to make a blanket now. (And it sounds like there's going to be a lot of preparation before quilting produces anything blanket-like.) By the time the kids were out of school, I had a nice start. Middle Child had some questions about my blankie-to-be.

She: "What are you doing?"
Me: "Making a blanket."
She:  "I thought we were making a quilt."
Me: "We are, but we can't start until the Care Package of quilting goodies from Grandma gets here."
She: "Grandma's bringing the quilt stuff Thursday."
Me: "I want a blanket, not patience."
She: "Are you sure that's a blanket?"
Me: "Uhmmm... maybe. Or it might be a belt."

Eyeing the variegated yarn with a raised eyebrow, She asks: "Would you wear that?"
Mirroring her expression, I can only respond, "No. Not even if one of my kids made it."

Development

There is a tendency for a crush on some unattainable adult to be the first experiment in the development of interest in the opposite sex. Personally, I was going to marry John Taylor who played bass guitar for the band Duran Duran when I was in third grade. Way Pre-Perfect, Middle Child was all about teen heartthrob Jesse McCarthy. In a similar vein, one of Skater Girl's best friends intends to one day marry Taylor Lautner of Twilight and Shark Boy and Lava Girl fame. (With the exception of Katie Holmes, this sort of thing rarely works out.)  In solidarity, the girls have formed the Taylor Lautner Club. (This news nearly caused Middle Child and I to suffer convulsions laughing after finally losing the battle to keep a straight face following the revelation of the new club.) The mooning over Mr. Lautner will allow the girls an opportunity to try out their feelings about boys and romance without actually having to deal with a boyfriend- and all that entails. It also means our living room is now the site of repeated screenings of his generally crummy movies and lots of pre-teen swooning.

Picture Imperfect

With a book in my purse to encourage patience, I gathered the required documentation and headed over to join the line that extended outside the building housing the driver's license office. Three hours and many chapters later, I was taking the worst picture ever. That unflattering photo is going to haunt me for the next twelve years, but at least online renewal is available next time.
I'm on a roll with bad pictures this week. I sent the Mister a picture of Middle Child in a fancy-schmancy party dress seeking approval of an option for the Winter Formal. He was concerned that she did not like it because she was making an awful face. Before taking another shot, I explained to her that Daddies do not enjoy buying pretty dresses for daughters making ugly faces. The next picture was better, but still bad enough that it cannot be displayed without incurring the displeasure of Middle Child.
Though forbidden to show those initial pictures to anyone, I was asked to text a photo of the dress to Perfect's mother. (Perfect will wait until the night of the dance for the big reveal.) This was intended as a guide to help Perfect choose a shirt and tie. The combination of paint and lighting in the room where the picture was taken caused Middle Child's dress to appear orange and gold with a greenish skirt. At least Middle Child was able to clarify that the colors are actually silver and exactly the same shade of blue that Perfect used for the border of the puzzle invitation and the ribbon he tied around the jar that housed it.
Today is not the day for a Picture Post, but there will certainly be one next week after Perfect and Middle Child head off for their much-anticipated night.

Thirteen

Rumor: Local High School #2 has no bathroom doors.
Truth: LHS #2 has no bathroom doors.

Rumor: LHS #2 has no restroom doors because students were practicing extracurricular activities behind the semi-privacy afforded by those doors.
Truth: Isn't the rumor bad enough?

Rumor: LHS #2 has fifteen pregnant freshman girls.
Truth: LHS #2 has thirteen pregnant freshman girls.

The above have been big topics in Pleasant Suburb lately. Perfect attends LHS #2, and he is pretty sure all the other schools make fun of the lack of doors on the restrooms. (He's also pretty sure the other schools have restroom doors. Middle Child confirms that restrooms at LHS #3, where she attends, have doors.) The lack of doors and the rapidly expanding waistlines of all those very young girls are a Hot Topic at lunch tables, dinner tables, and a couple of round table discussions as well.

It's a recipe for trouble: hormones + the invincibility of youth + questionable judgment. The result is thirteen very young mothers-to-be + rampant gossip + the mantra, "My [son or daughter] would never..." The problem is that, clearly, a large number of daughters (and obviously sons) certainly did, and now we're all talking about it.

At our house, we're talking about how those girls might be feeling. We're talking about the higher risks associated with teen births. We're talking about how one's future becomes complicated by an unplanned pregnancy at any age, and the choices those girls will have to make. We're talking about the joy that can come with motherhood with the stability of marriage and family. It's not The Talk, but a series of conversations that have been stirred up anew as Middle Child develops her perspective.

Tidbits: Expiration

• I cleaned out the fridge. "There are starving children in Africa/China..." ran through my head as a wrinkled bell pepper, fuzzy grapes, and a bottle of French Salad Dressing (Best By AUG0811) were revealed hiding out in the nether regions of the fridge. At least there were several items discovered approaching the toss date that have been moved up on the mental priority list for use.
• A letter from the Department of Public Safety states that my driver's license must be presented at the local DPS for renewal. Oh.but.no. Pleasant Suburb's DPS is legendary for the inefficiency of its staff and the length of the line to conduct any sort of business. Avoiding that office is one of the reasons my big kids do not drive. I'm not sure that I intend to continue driving if it means going to the DPS.
• Perfect has not yet asked Middle Child to the Winter Formal. Despite the back-up dress in the closet, there is still time to order the pretty, pretty princess dress online (Now Sale-priced!) if an invitation is issued by Friday. After that, we'll just be waiting to take back the shredded mullet dress within the 30-day window for returns if the dance is not added to Middle Child's calendar.

Perfect

Middle Child came home from a church youth retreat this Fall gushing about a boy. She vacillated between yearning, despair, and giddy admiration in the way of teenage girls. He was *sigh* Perfect. He met her parents. She met his parents. Middle Child wandered around smiling. Except when she giggled or sighed at a text message. The families sat together at Sunday service and made small talk afterward. There was a movie date with his parents and ice skating with us.

Perfect's school has a Winter Formal in three weeks, but he has not yet asked her to attend. The process of finding a dress is lengthy enough that we started yesterday just in case. The first two shops yielded one dress that was strangely reminiscent of Princess Leia from Star Wars and two "High-Low" dresses with handkerchief hemlines. Both of the last two were dress equivalents of a mullet (short in front, long in back) that had been through a shredder. None of these were what she really hoped to find. The perfect dress our (apparently reformed) tomboy is hunting will feature a fitted bodice with sparklies all over it and a foofy tulle skirt. Seriously.

Rethinking

The Pantry Cleanse has been crushed. (It was the dogs--- they ran out of food.) BFF relieved the sting of defeat by meeting me at the Market for coffee before careening through the aisles armed with our shopping carts, opinions, and a host of mental price points and nutritional information. Important findings from the shopping expedition include:

•  "New Zealand Fresh" scented Mr. Clean, "... smells like Europe!" (BFF was in England, Italy, and Germany on two separate trips this year, so she would know such things.)
• Be sure to soak the corn tortillas before assembling enchiladas. (That's an advanced step. It can only be attempted after one remembers to pick up the tortillas.)
• It doesn't matter how healthy it is if the kids won't eat it.
• There's a certain shame in admitting that Skater Girl's morning often starts with Pop Tarts.

In other news, Skater Girl's illustration depicting the Creep Factor in the third person Point of View will be forwarded to a group of 5th Grade teachers. It will offer them the POV of their students. The post will also likely give them a laugh while allowing the opportunity to rethink the way certain lessons are stated.

Up All Night

Follow-Up Note to Self:

• The New Year's Day that follows Christmas on a Sunday will also fall on Sunday. So much for Promiseland--- welcome to Zombieland.
• Kids who nap away the first afternoon of the New Year may be up well after bedtime. In fact, post-nap wakefulness can lead to parental interference with teenage technology use at 2:00 a.m. despite reiteration of the expectations that texting and facebook cease at an earlier hour.

Note to Teenage Daughter:

• Causing your mother to be fully awake in the wee hours for something other than illness, blood, fire, or flood is likely to end badly.
• Texting a lengthy goodnight to the swoon-inspiring boy after being apprehended out of compliance with household expectations will not improve your mother's mood.

Tidbits: Exams

• That fall off of the front step last week? Yeah. Ow. The good news: The exam just confirmed bruising, but no damage to the implants or fractures. A little bad news: After the exam, the ortho doc removed a granuloma (scar tissue that formed around an internal stitch) that required a secondary incision on one of those still healing knees. Ow some more.
• I flunked another batch of biopsies at the dermatologist as well. Last Friday resulted in four new incision sites between the biopsies and the scar tissue. It was not a day that should be repeated. Ever.
• Speaking of doctors, December is always a little crazy trying to fit in the Specialists. By seeing them in December, each new year can start off without a legion of doctors and appointments. That's a desirable thing. It's also a time-consuming, sometimes worrisome thing. A thing that creates increasing gratitude for insurance coverage and the mister's employment as so many struggle without such provision.
• The Boy may graduate. He's thinking he will complete high school with up to 15 credit hours of college courses. In the self-paced program, that's largely up to him, but there are other factors. I wonder if, perhaps, the Boy is again counting his chickens before they are hatched. Sometimes he just lays an egg. So, rather than, "Yay!", his pronouncements are frequently met with questions, a measure of caution, and, still, hope that it will all work out for him.
• The local high school kids are attending for four hours per day with their exam schedules this week. Yesterday, the kitchen table was populated with teenagers. They are generally funny, bright kids who aren't put off by parents, and who welcome Moms to sit with them and chat the afternoon away. They do eat. A lot. One leaves behind an added link on the paper chain that reads, "The [Our Last Name]s because they feed me!" They feed us, too... with their laughter, their energy, and some questionable Spanish language over which they will be tested today.

Listing 2011, Part IV

The post-Thanksgiving listing of the good stuff goes on...

40. The "extra" teenagers who joined us to decorate the Christmas Tree this year.
39. Staying up late watching spy movies with Middle Child.
38. The possibility of our first freeze tonight.
37. Tomato Soup and Grilled Cheese Sandwiches for dinner.
36. Prayer.
35. That Skater Girl did not refer to "butt dialing" as a "booty call" in public before we discovered her mistaken assumption that they were the same thing.
34. That first whiff of pine as we walked past the Christmas Trees for sale at the market.
33. Belly laughs.
32. The start of Track Season for the Runner Girls on Monday.
31. The beginning of the Christmas message series at church this weekend.
30. Jane Austen.
29. Contentment.
28. My daughter wrapped in a quilt my mother made.
27. The trust of my children.
26. Memories.

Creep

The mister suggests we add a vehicle like this to our driveway:

We can even put custom license plates that read, "CREEPN", on it. Our children have long referred to white vans as, "Creeper Vans" because every after school special and kiddie PSA on Stranger Danger throughout their early elementary years featured such a vehicle. The white cargo van is ultimately linked to strangers offering candy in the minds of my children.
With the Boy of legal driving age, and Middle Child right behind him, vehicles are a topic frequently considered and discussed around here. This weekend the mister saw a very reasonably priced white Econoline van offered  for sale locally. He and I found the potential hilarious. Our kids were less amused. Okay, Skater Girl thought it was funny, but she's several years behind her siblings; therefore, there's little risk that she would have an opportunity to drive the Creeper Van.

Loose

Middle Child wants to see the "Footloose" remake that hits theaters today. While PG-13 is our cut-off for ratings, and the movie does meet that criteria, it's still questionable. This was not one of those shows that had a Movie Mom or similar review posted the day before to help determine whether the trailers held the absolute worst offenders of parental cinematic sensibilities, or if the trailers were pretty tame in order to avoid censors while advertising. So, knowing that it's possible to use editing for both good and evil, the trailers were pulled up.
The first trailer looked suspiciously like a teen Thelma and Louise with choreography. The second showcased the dancing. The third trailer was probably the most accurate reflection of the movie with moments given to the conflict between overprotective parents and teens (played by 20-somethings) who want to express themselves through dance. After viewing the trailers, it was agreed, with trepidation, that Middle Child would be allowed to see the movie because it fit the ratings criteria we have set.

Ultimately, "Footloose" may be trashy. Or it may be a brilliant saga of teens and parents coming to an understanding. We'll know soon enough because Middle Child tends to give a blow-by-blow of books, t.v. shows, and movies, so we're sure to have a better idea later tonight. (If she ever wants a tatoo, I'll suggest a "Spoiler Alert" warning applied across her forehead.) Either way, there is a desire to say, "Yes," to requests when possible. There are always plenty of reasons to say, "No." Every, "No," seems etched in permanent teenage memory. So, tonight Middle Child will go watch a questionable movie. Whether the movie is memorable or not, the odds of MC feeling like we "get" her are a little higher.

Fevered

Skater Girl is home sick for the third day in a row. I suspect she could have gone to school today. Still, there exists a sort of "Murphy's Law" regarding ill children with elevated temperatures. A few of the basic tenets include:

• Sending a child who barely ran a 99.something temp to school will result in a raging fever that gets measured in the school nurse's office.
• A child who ran a 99.something degree temp 23 hours prior to the start of class has 50/50 odds of being well (if kept at home) or of spiking a true fever (if sent to school).
• Making a doctor's appointment is an effective means of reducing or eradicating fever.
• Behavior is a poor thermometer. The same child who ran laps around the yard, spent twenty minutes on the trampoline, and then wrestled the dog into submission can measure a toasty one-oh-three.

This is by no means an exhaustive list of the fever-related lore one picks up by parenting or simply working in schools or childcare. This does catalog the list of reasons behind keeping Skater Girl home one more day. (Well, not that last one. It's more representative than literal.) She appears to be over her illness, but she's been busy knocking out her make-up work. I figured it wasn't worth sending her in to school and risking the call to pick her up after a slight temperature was marked yesterday afternoon. Hopefully, all the other parents in her class have similar thoughts this year as we head into cold and flu season.

Homecoming

In case Gentle Reader is unaware: High School Football in Texas is a BIG deal. The annual Homecoming Football Game and Dance are an even bigger deal--- even for those who aren't particularly enthralled with the score board. Middle Child rarely misses a game, but eclipsing her enthusiasm for the Friday Night Lights is the topic on many of the high schoolers' minds over the last few weeks: who has a date and who doesn't for the Homecoming events.

Middle Child planned initially to go with a group of friends, but that plan was out the window when she was asked to be Comedy's Homecoming date. Middle Child and Comedy exchanged the traditional mum and garter on Thursday night. They wore their Homecoming Bling to school on Friday and to the Varsity game Friday night. Saturday followed with a dance at the high school. Comedy scored big points for the little things like opening the car door and bigger things like confirming the time Middle Child was expected home.

That's a friendly arm around Middle Child. MC suspects the boy was trying to avoid touching skin in front of the 'rents. I suspect that is quite probable.

Comedy walked Middle Child to the door after the dance. (I made enough noise from my perch on the sofa for it to be extra-obvious that I was waiting up just in case there was any question in their minds.) While they were out, the mister and I had ordered prints of the pre-dance photos and picked up copies for Comedy to share with his family. He took his photos, and away he went.
Middle Child proceeded to describe every aspect of her first "real" dance. (The ones in middle school involved herds of girls dressing up in theme outfits. That's not quite the same.) It's probably better that I didn't know before she left that kids at her school are "known for grinding". (*Choke. Gag...* Do I dare ask?! Wondering is probably worse than knowing.) She doesn't see the expression on Mom's face, which is likely turning a very unflattering shade of horrified, because she's rummaging through the fridge. As her one-sided conversation continues, Middle Child mentions that she didn't grind. (OhholyhallelujahthankyouJesus.) She sounds genuinely disgusted with the practice while also fascinated that the teachers didn't do anything about it besides looking embarrassed. She did mention that, "Comedy kept wanting to slow dance." And she was fine with slow dancing, but she really liked the fast dancing because it was so much fun with all her friends. (And I'm feeling really okay with slow dancing after the near-trauma of even hearing the word, "grinding," pass over the lips of my daughter. I don't particularly care if the fast dancing comment was possibly for my benefit.) It sounds like a good night without anything that would make a mother cringe. Whew.