Why I Let My Daughter Go To Camp for Seven Weeks

Today I get my girl back.

For seven long weeks Julia has been at camp, serving on a work crew. She has learned how to feed hundreds of hungry kids at a time. She has learned how to clean a toilet. She has learned how to pack up food for overnight camping trips. And she has served the community by cleaning up a 24-mile biking path.

Seven long weeks.

She’s not the first of my three to have chosen a summer away. In fact, all three of my girls have had extended stays at camp at one time or another. And over the years lots of people have asked me how on earth I could let them go away for a whole summer.

Here’s a little mommy secret for you: it’s never easy on me. Never.

I spend a good amount of time thinking about them, praying for them, and even worrying a little about them. If you know anything about my story, you know that camp is just about the last place I’d like to send my daughter for the summer.

And yet, I do it.

Here’s why.

Because it really does take a village. No matter what you think of Hillary Clinton, I think she was right when she reinforced the idea that many people can and do influence our kids. Personally, I’d hate to be the only influence on my kids’ lives—they would be sad, sorry, one-dimensional people if I were the only one pouring truth into them. The key, of course, is making sure the RIGHT people are influencing our kids. At camp our daughters have been influenced by wonderful Christian college students, amazing adults, and even younger kids who have all had a hand in shaping their thoughts and values.

Because they need to unplug. At the camp our girls have attended, electronics are not allowed. At all. Ever. Even the counselors are not allowed iPods or computers or cell phones (except when they are off duty), so the entire camp is completely present. Completely in the moment. And completely unplugged. I don’t know about you, but I really believe that in this day and age, a kid who knows how to unplug is a great kid in my book. Unplugging teaches kids something valuable about the art of great conversation.

Because they need their freedom. As my girls have grown older they have earned varying degrees of freedom, and a summer away at camp is just one step along that path. I’m sure this freedom is fun at first (hey, let’s see how late we can stay up tonight!), but it also includes making sure she gets enough sleep so that she will have energy to serve the next day. Or being allowed to go into town to do her laundry. Yep, with freedom comes responsibility.

Because they need to work. (And to get dirty. And to not wear makeup.) I hope I’ve already laid the groundwork here, and I hope that before my daughter set foot on camp grounds she already knew how to clean a toilet. But there’s something about having an 8-5 “job” that’s good for her. She’s tired at the end of a day. And something translates to what her dad does every day. Something about when Mom goes to work starts to make sense. She’s learning that there is value in a good day’s work.

Because God has something to teach them there that they can’t learn at home. I don’t know what that lesson is, and I may never know, but I can tell you that my daughters are different people when they come home from a summer away. Somehow it seems that being immersed in nature and being unplugged allows you to really hear from God in a way that just doesn’t happen here in suburbia. It could also be that the big lessons God wants to teach them take time. Seven weeks, perhaps?

For all these reasons, and probably many others, I sent Julia to camp this summer. 

But here’s one reason I did NOT send Julia to camp: because I wanted her out of my hair.

I think it’s pretty obvious that we have fun together and that we enjoy each other’s company. I have a great teenager (I’ve had three great teenagers!), and I’d love to have her around all summer. In fact, it would be easier and a lot less expensive to keep her at home.

But I am confident that God has used this summer in Julia’s life to shape her into the woman He wants her to be. As much as my heart longed to be with her, I trust that God had better things for her at camp than He had for her here at home.

***

Today I get her back.

I will throw my arms around her and hold her tightly. I will load her things into my car and listen to her stories all the way home (or until she falls asleep). I will help her do her stinky laundry and cook her a couple of great meals until she settles into a new routine at home.

And as the school year starts and talk of camp becomes less and less a part of our everyday conversation, I will watch her—this new, grownup version of her—and I will know that I made the hardest right decision of my life.

Seventeen

To you, my independent one.

My oh-so-disciplined child who has

. . . practiced willingly

. . . studied carefully

. . . loved tenderly

. . . saved diligently

. . . given faithfully

. . . tutored selflessly

. . . befriended loyally

. . . traveled begrudgingly

. . . laughed joyfully

. . . challenged truthfully

Thank you for teaching me so much. Thank you for your sense of humor, your sense of style, and your sense of caring.

You, special girl, are a gift, and I love you so much.



Happy birthday, Caroline!

Love,

Mom

Nineteen

She was always eager.

An eager learner, we called her. One of those “Oooh! Oooh! Pick me!” kind of kids in the classroom.

Eager to be the first to experience, to see, to know . . . anything.



Eager to love—always free to share hugs and affection with those she loves.



Eager to run ahead.



Eager to work hard.



Eager to please us, her parents.



Eager to be a great sister.



Eager to be goofy.



Eager to be a friend.



Eager to be born.

Nineteen years ago today Kate eagerly arrived . . . three weeks early.

We love you, Kate!



Happy birthday!

Dabbling?

I walked and I prayed. These are not unusual.

I cried. This was unusual.

Yes, I’ve already confessed my penchant for tears, but I don’t usually cry when I walk my dog. Last week I did.

Have you ever felt like a failure? Like a quitter? Like you just don’t seem to do anything with your life? I have. I do. And these are the things I was talking to God about last week.

I know it probably has a lot to do with a blogging conference I’m attending next week. I feel so out of my element going to this event, like I don’t really belong there, so I was praying about that . . . wondering why God has me going far away to hang out with a bunch of women I don’t know for reasons I don’t understand.

As I was praying I got to thinking about how I don’t really have a “thing.” I mean, this blog isn’t what I’d call successful. I’ve never written that book I’ve been meaning to write. I’ve spoken a little, but I haven’t pursued this as a “career." I’ve got a master’s degree, but never pursued a Ph.D. And then it dawned on me . . .

I’m a dabbler.

So as I walked, I poured out my heart to God, expressing my frustration that I dabble in so many things, but have never had one “thing." I wondered out loud to God why that is.

Frustration came too easily that day, not peace, not reassurance. Just frustration that I have never pursued much of anything for very long, that I’ve never had what you would call a meaningful career, that my life, as I see it, is not one of accomplishments.

It’s true, I’m a dabbler.

Then, in the quiet of the morning, snow crunching under my feet and the pit-pat, pit-pat of the dog’s paws, He whispered to my heart: You’ve never dabbled in being a mom to those three girls I’ve given you.

And suddenly I know He’s right.

For almost 20 years now I have devoted my life to three little girls who have given me a Ph.D. in parenting, in commitment, in love. They have been both the hardest and the happiest years of my life.

And even though I see this phase of my life careening past me at a blistering pace, God showed me that they have been my "thing."

So I will continue to follow the One who has given me these three darlings, and I will continue to pray for opportunities to serve Him wherever and whenever He wants, and I will keep looking for that “thing” that is mine.

Even if it’s right under my nose.

How about you? Are you a dabbler? What does that look like?

* * * * *

Hey, I'm also posting over at the MODsquad blog today. I'd love it if you'd check it out!

A Word to Parents of College Students

I don’t normally keep my cell phone by my bed.

(Do you?)

But for one night last week I did, for lots of reasons.

Because we live in a flood zone.

And because we have a generator which is supposed to keep all the critical elements of our basement (like sump pumps) running when we flood, but which has been a little bit finicky lately.

And because one day last week our power went out for an hour on a nice, warm, blue-sky September day.

Go figure.

And because B was out of town.

And because B was out of town and since he’s the keeper of the alarm clock and I have no earthly clue how to set the correct time on his alarm clock which got messed up when the power went out and because I needed to be awake at 6:00 a.m. on the next morning . . . I slept with my cell phone next to the bed.

Can I just tell all you parents of college students, either currently or in the future, DON’T SLEEP WITH YOUR CELL PHONE BY THE BED.

Whatever it is can wait until morning.

Because on that particular night last week when the power went out and B was out of town and I didn’t know how to set the time on his alarm clock and my cell phone became my only source of time or alarm, my little text message alert went off.

At 1:22.

In the morning.

And in the 0.86 seconds it took to reach my cell phone to see who was texting me in the middle of the night I thought of about a thousand different ways my college student could be in trouble.

Maybe she had gotten into an accident.

Maybe she was deathly ill.

Maybe she had broken her leg in some freak human pyramid the kids were building in the dorm lobby.

Maybe she was just sick of all the socializing and needed to vent.

I couldn’t possibly imagine why my college student (of course it had to be her because WHO ELSE would text me in the middle of the night?!) would need me.

At 1:22.

A.M.

Want to know the nature of the emergency? I know you do.

I’ll let her tell you in her own words.

“Mommy can you bring me earplugs tomorrow?”

Sure, honey, I’ll bring you earplugs.

I'll be there at 1:22.

A.M.

Ten Things My Kids Say I've Taught Them

Over dinner the other night I was telling my girls about my “Ten Things” blog post from yesterday. (Hopefully they’ve read it.) So, since I was talking about the 10 most important things I hope I’ve imparted to them over the years, I decided to ask them what they saw as the 10 most important things I’ve taught them.

And now here is where I have one word of advice for all the parents out there: be careful what you ask your kids. Because the answers I got were not at all what I expected.

So, in no particular order, are the top 10 things my children have learned from me. According to them.

1. Stay away from electric fences. This came up because one time when we were visiting a horse farm I leaned up against a fence to pet a horse. Little did I know that the fence was actually TURNED ON, and I fell backwards onto the ground. Kinda scary.

2. When in a foreign country and someone asks you directions in a language you don’t know, DON’T PANIC and say something stupid like, “No speaka de French.” Enough said.

At this point Abby needed a little clarification. “Is this, like, something we’re supposed to learn from your mistakes?”

Um, yeah. Or not. Whatever.

3. “You taught us how to whistle grass between our thumbs.” And I’m happy to report that all three now possess this talent.

4. “Oh! I’ve got one! You taught us that trick where you spin a coin on the table.” Except that Maggie hadn’t learned that trick yet, so we had to spend 10 minutes showing her how to do it. She’s now up to speed.

5. There’s a little tooth brushing song I used to sing to them every night that goes like this:

“You gotta brusha your toothies
Every day.
You gotta brusha your toothies
In every way.
You gotta brusha your toothies
To fight tooth decay.
You gotta brusha your toothies
Every day.”

They tell me this is significant because they now teach that little ditty to the kids they babysit who love it.

6. Another singing lesson . . . and if you’ve never tried this, it totally works, unless you’re in a 10-digit dialing area . . . I taught them how to remember our phone number by putting it to “Twinkle Twinkle Little Star.”

It’s O.K. Take a minute and sing your phone number. It works, doesn’t it?

7. “You taught me how NOT to bowl.” Alright, alright. So I’m a terrible bowler. And I just might have accidentally crossed the red line one time and slipped on the oily floor and fell across two bowling lanes. Who knew that lane was so slippery?

8. Baking seems to be a big theme. I guess I do that pretty well, because two of my three have picked up this skill. The third has no interest whatsoever.

9. They said I taught them to respect their elders by fighting for the closest parking spot at the mall so that their grandmother wouldn't have to walk too far to the door. Yelling "Hey! I have an old lady in the car!" to the girl who stole my parking spot really drove that point home.

And finally, just as I was starting to feel like the only thing I’ve taught them was to try your hardest not to appear in public as completely dorky you are in private, Kate said this:

10. “Mom, look at that list. You’ve taught us how to have fun.”

I guess I’ve done O.K.

So tell me, what would your kids say you’ve taught them?

Ten Things

A long time ago I attended a writer’s conference. The keynote speaker was a relatively unknown Christian writer who had an idea that he floated to us during one of his talks. Something about the rapture, the antichrist, and the end times.

Before Jerry Jenkins ever wrote the Left Behind series he had already written several books, including one that I bought at that conference called 12 Things I Want My Kids to Remember Forever. When he autographed my book I told him that the reason I was buying this book and not one of his 25 other books on the table was because the title of one chapter was “Women Work Harder than Men.”

Think about that for just a second.

I have loved that little book over the years. It’s the book I wish I could write for my own daughters. Because they are going to be leaving home really soon, and I have so much to tell them.

Anyway, when my Facebook friend, Jennifer, gave me a list of blog topic ideas, she asked me to write about the 5 or 10 things I want to be sure my girls leave the house knowing. I immediately thought of that Jerry Jenkins book and went to town.

I’ll tell you one thing, my list doesn’t have anything to do with sewing . It might have something to do with cooking. Or laundry—that’s pretty important.

But definitely not sewing.

I have to say that this was really hard. (Thanks, Jen.) How do you whittle down 18 years of training and teaching into a small list of 10 things? I mean, really, I could write a list of 100 things. But that might water down the significance of this little exercise just a bit.

So, here’s my list of 10 things I want my kids to remember before they leave home.

1. I have to say this first because it really is the most important thing: Know Jesus. Love Him with all your heart. Take Him with you wherever you go.

When you were little I always made you hold my hand when we crossed the street. When you got a little older you started to get embarrassed about that, and you shrugged me off. But very soon I won’t be there to hold your hand all the time. Hold on to His. And not just when you’re crossing the street. Hold on all the time.

2. Marry a man who loves Jesus more than he loves you. Because in doing that, he will love you best. After that, make sure your husband makes you laugh every day. Because, believe me, laughter can get you through some tough days.

3. Be kind to the outsider. We all know how it feels to be the person on the outside looking in, so try to include others. Bring people in. Be warm. Be welcoming. Be hospitable.

4. It’s not about you. Ever. I know this phrase has turned into a bit of a cliché, but it is so true. This life, this world, is so much bigger than you.

5. Debt is NOT your friend. It will suffocate you like a blanket and, once under that blanket, it’s really, really hard to get out from under it. Debt removes options from your life, and I want you to have options. Stay far, far away from the allure of debt, and the best way to do that is to live below your means.

6. Some stuff that people say matters really doesn’t matter at all. But then, there is some stuff that some people don’t care about that matters a lot. Life is often about having the right perspective.

7. Learn how to make a couple of dishes really well. Make them your signature dishes. That way, when you have company over you’ll have a recipe or two that you can make really well and you won’t have any disasters like the double-charred, hard-as-a-rock ribs I made for friends one time when your dad and I were first married.

8. Find a church and commit to it. This is your body, so do everything within your power to help make your body healthy and strong. Serve. Confront. Help. Unless there is heresy being preached, try to stick with it. You will be blessed so much if you do this.

9. Don’t complain. Now, I realize that I spend my fair share of time complaining about the weather, but I know I shouldn’t. There’s nothing I can do about the weather. But this is bigger than the weather. Nobody likes to be around a person who complains all the time. Instead of complaining, try to make the world a better place.

10. Finally, always remember that you are so special. Each one of you is so very gifted, and by that I don’t mean intellectually. Each one of you is so beautiful, inside and out. You love well. You give a lot. You are good friends. You have taught me so much. Never, ever forget how special you are because there will be some days when you won't feel special. You'll think that you have nothing to offer this world or the people in it. You'll wonder what you can do to make a difference. Believe me, just because you're here the world is a better place.

I know I said I’d give you ten things I want you to remember, but there’s one more thing. . . .

Never forget that I have loved you with more love than my heart can hold. It overflows. It spills over into everything I have done for you. And there’s more there. Always more. You are the work of my life, and I’m so very proud of what I’ve accomplished.

Love,
Mom

So how about you? What would you add to this list?

Congratulations, Maggie!

I don't know what it is, but on Friday I tend to look back at my week, try to remember what I did, and think about what I've accomplished (which is usually not much). And I think about the best parts of my week.

This week's highlight, most certainly, would have been Maggie's all-school play--her first play ever--which was held on Tuesday and Thursday. Can I just say that I didn't know she had it in her? Oh my, that girl was funny!

What am I saying? I did know she had it in her. Ever since the time in third grade when her class had a substitute teacher and she spoke with a British accent for the first half of the day just to mess with the sub's head. Pretty much ever since then people have been telling me I should get her into acting.

The play was a little one-act called "The Mystery at Throckmiddlemorton Manor." It was perfect for a junior high school production because it was short and silly and involved a lot of different characters. Oh, and a girl-fight. Can't have a junior high play without a girl fight, can you?

All the kids did a great job, but the one I watched most closely was my little thespian. She played the part of a French maid. Yes, I know that every mother's deepest desire is to see her 6th grade daughter on stage in front of her entire school with overdone makeup and bright red lipstick in a French maid's costume. It was indeed a proud mommy-moment for me.

She even did the accent because, you know, the costume wasn't enough.

Seriously, though, somehow the costume crew was able to find a decent looking maid costume that actually went down to my daughter's ankles. So maybe, rather than being a French maid she was really a Puritan maid. Named Hester or something like that.

Doesn't matter. The way she played it, she was definitely of the French variety.

After last night's performance we went out for ice cream, just the two of us. We talked about her experience, how much fun it is to act, and how she longs to keep this going through high school. She's beginning to see herself in this new role, actress, and she's liking what she's seeing. Her dreams are beginning to take shape.

All this acting talk took me back about, oh, 30 years to my own high school experience. I was in a lot of plays and musicals in high school. That was my thing, and I loved it. I think I even dabbled in community theater for a while. And even though I never had a lead role (most people I went to high school with would probably say, "You were in plays? Which ones?"), I had racked up the most thespian points and won the "Best Thespian" award during our senior assembly.

So who knows what will happen with Maggie. She may never try out for another play (although after last night I seriously doubt that), and I would be O.K. with that. What I talked to her about last night was the satisfaction of finding something she loves to do and doing it with all her heart.

Really, there's nothing better.

The Secret to Raising Girls "These Days"

Remember that Facebook status in which I was begging for topics? Well, one of my friends wrote a long list of things she’d like to see me write about, and since I know she’s a faithful reader I thought I’d oblige as much as I can. Today I’m choosing her suggestion to write about thoughts on raising girls “these days.” (She put the quotation marks in there, not me.)

Since I have three daughters she must see me as somewhat of an expert on girls. I’m not sure about that—I don’t think there will ever be an expert on girls in this lifetime—but I’ll give you my take on how I look at raising them.

I’m guessing what my friend meant by “these days” is the day we live in. A day filled with uncertainty, a heightened sense of fear, and, of course, sexuality confronting them at every turn. A day of materialism and greed. A day of self-centeredness. A day lacking in moral courage.

O.K., looking at that list, I’m done in. There is no hope. The day in which we live is the worst possible day. Come quickly, Lord Jesus!

You know what? Some days I can feel like that. I can feel like the world in which my girls are going to live really is the worst possible world. I can feel like my grandchildren have absolutely no future whatsoever because they won’t have any Social Security. I can look at it all swirling around me and want to go hide under the covers for a while because I feel like I don’t have any answers. The problems are just too big.

But then I realize that other generations must have felt the same way. Other generations faced a long and terrible war with many, many more fatalities than we are seeing today. Other generations saw greed. Other generations saw immorality.

And the parents of those generations did exactly what we are doing today. They put one foot in front of the other and continued on.

But what about raising girls specifically? What about the challenge of raising daughters in a confused generation? A generation that tells them that they can have it all without explaining that “all” comes with a cost. A generation that tells them that investing in the lives of others is not a worthy calling—surely there must be more. A generation that tells them that they should not really rely on another and that they should maintain their independence at any cost.

How do I raise girls in this atmosphere?

And to bring it home even more, girls “these days” are still girls. They are still mean to one another. They are still catty. They still lie to one another. And, oh boy, do they still get their feelings hurt!

All of the icky girl stuff that went on when we were teenagers and pre-teens still goes on today. It gets wearisome sometimes, believe me.

So looking at the world my girls will soon be entering, I have to ask myself, how do I prepare them? What can I possibly give them that will help them maneuver life’s tricky obstacles?

The answer: I can’t. I can’t give them anything in and of myself. In my own understanding and estimation, there is nothing at all that I can offer my daughters that will make their future any better than mine.

But Jesus.

The only thing I know about the future is that it is in the hands of a loving God who has given us everything we need in Christ Jesus. And the only thing I know to tell my girls is that the most fulfilling, most honest, most fruitful life they will ever have is a life lived hand-in-hand with Jesus.

This weekend I was reminded yet again that none of us is guaranteed a tomorrow. In some sense, looking at the state of the world today, that might be a blessed relief. But when a young life is snuffed out in a random accident, as happened to the 19 year old daughter of some friends this weekend, you have to ask, “What really is most important? What really makes a life successful? What really matters?”

And to those questions I would have to tell my daughters that their future will only be secure in Jesus. Nothing else makes life meaningful. Nothing else fulfills.

Nothing else really matters.

Oh Boy, It's Going to be a LONG Week

I feel like I'm living in the twilight zone this week. Everything is jumbled and different and strange and confused. Nothing looks like it's supposed to look. It's like I'm living in a black and white world that is supposed to be in color.

See, all three of my girls are away this week, scattered across the country from Wyoming, to the inner city of Chicago, to northern Wisconsin. I'm sure they're all having wonderful times doing what they're doing, but this week is really challenging me to put my money where my mouth is. I say I trust God with my kids, but do I really?

On Sunday afternoon, the first real backpacking day for Kate who's out in the Tetons with her youth group, our phone rang, and it was one of the leaders. Kate was having trouble breathing, experiencing asthma-like symptoms . . . except she doesn't HAVE asthma . . . and would it be O.K. to use another girl's inhaler? Ah, yes.

I found I had to really pray to steady myself, to go back to what I know about God in order to not worry too much about Kate. We haven't heard back from the leader, so I'm assuming Kate is fine. They won't have contact with the "real" world until Thursday night.

On Sunday, Abby left for a missions trip in the city. Before she left I made the mistake of looking up their location on Mapquest and found that she is deep in the heart of the "bad" part of town. Gulp.

So I've been praying--not just for her safety and protection (that goes without saying)--but moreso for my heart. Do I truly believe that missions projects like this are worth it to teach my daughter some important things? If so, I need to let her go, and I need to trust that God will take care of her. No matter what.

Yesterday, Maggie left for camp. The same camp where there are lots and lots of horses to which Maggie is highly allergic. Last year she was pretty much blowing her nose and puffing on her inhaler for the entire two weeks. But she insisted on going back.

And I have to ask myself, are the things she'll be doing and the lessons she'll be learning more important than her not feeling all that great during the time she's there? Most definitely. And she wasn't at all worried about her allergies. It was worth it to Maggie to go back to camp, so I need to trust that God will work out her situation too.

Here's what I know about this week. I have absolutely no control over what happens to my kids. Zero. I can't run out to Wyoming and check to make sure Kate is breathing. I can't put a fence around Abby and tell her to stay within the boundaries. I can't hold Maggie's hand if she gets sick. I just have to trust that they are all O.K.

But the funny thing is, if I really stop to think about it, every day of their lives is SO not determined by me, and I have little control over much of any of it. I have much less power than I like to think I have, that's for sure.

So, in this funny Twilight Zone of a week, things may be out of my control, stuff could happen--kids could get hurt or sick or worse--but I choose to believe that they are in God's control. And there is no better place for them to be.

It Was Time

"Mom? How do you know when you're ready to be baptized?" The question was whispered to me during church one week. The question I had been waiting for, half expecting based on the growth I'd seen in my daughter over the past couple of years.

"Why? Do you think you want to be baptized?" I whispered back.

And thus began the most wonderful series of conversations with Maggie who, tonight, was baptized in our church.

When people are baptized in our church, their "testimony" is printed in the worship folder--that's just a fancy way of saying how their lives have changed once they got to know Jesus.

Maggie said it would be O.K. if I shared her testimony with you.

"My name is Maggie, and I just finished fifth grade at Hawthorne School and will be entering sixth grade at Franklin this fall.

I have been learning about Christ my whole life, but when I was four years old I went to a Backyard Bible Club which sparked my interest to let Jesus into my heart. That night, my mom and I prayed and I asked Jesus to be my Savior.

I believe Jesus Christ is the Son of God and loves and cares about me so much that He died for me and my sins so I can have eternal life with him forever.

The reason I'm being baptized is to show people how God has worked in my life and to start a new life for him, and make that commitment to live for him forever.

A verse that has meant a lot to me is John 14:6. I am the way, the truth and the life. No one can come to the Father except through me."

I am one blessed mom, my friends. Truly blessed.

The Little School with the Big Heart

Twelve years ago we made one of the first really big decision about how we would raise our kids. We decided to place Kate in public school.

One year later we made the second really big decision that would affect all of our girls. We moved. Just a few blocks over, but it was within the school boundaries of a different elementary school. We didn't know what we'd be getting into come first grade, but we did know that we wanted our girls to go to a neighborhood school, and since this new school was just two blocks from our new house, a change was in order.

So Kate switched to Hawthorne School for first grade, and every day I am so thankful that we stumbled upon this house, this neighborhood, and that little school.

I mentioned last week that Hawthorne's motto is "The Little School with the Big Heart." Every single day, that place lives up to its reputation. Every single day the children who walk through the doors are accepted, loved, nurtured. They are challenged to be children of character. They are blessed to sit side by side with other kids who live differently, believe differently, and sometimes behave differently, but they know they are always accepted there.

Today is my last day as a "Hawthorne Mom." Tomorrow I'll have a middle schooler, but for today, I'm going to relish all that this little school has meant to me and to my family.

Acceptance. I have definitely appreciated that my kids have attended a racially diverse school; in fact, many of the children who come to Hawthorne are refugees who have come to the United States through World Relief. My children have sat next to students of every color, religious background, and nationality.

I will never forget the girl who came from Bosnia when Kate was in second grade. The sweet girl arrived in the United States on a Friday and on Monday morning was sitting in a classroom where nobody spoke her language. It was November, I remember, and I happened to be working in the classroom on her first day at Hawthorne. Her teacher quickly assigned another girl in the class to be her "buddy" and off she went--learning English on her very first day.

I can't imagine how she must have felt, this beautiful Bosnian girl, but if I had been her I would have been scared out of my wits! Unbelievably, by the end of the year, she was speaking English very well, was reading close to grade level, and was doing an amazing job at math.

Two years ago Maggie's class welcomed a boy from Burma who also spoke not a word of English when he arrived. I don't even want to know what kind of atrocities he might have seen or experienced there, but I do know that today he has friends, he plays sports, and he dances like a star! And he has a smile a mile wide.

Stories like this are common at Hawthorne.

Is life easy for these refugee kids? No. But Hawthorne has a way of making their transition just a little easier than it might have been. I'm so glad I could be a small part of that.

Community. Because most of the kids live in a small neighborhood, the Hawthorne community is strong. I have met some of my best friends through that school, and I will be forever grateful for that.

As my kids ride their bikes down the streets, I know that they are being watched over, cared for, noticed by people who know them from Hawthorne School. In this day and age, it's nice to be a part of a small, tightknit community that really does watch out for its kids.

Teachers. I don't even know where to begin to describe the teachers my children have had. I guess all I can do is thank them.

I thank these teachers for finding the good in my girls, even when that was hard to find. I thank them for understanding when character issues have needed to be addressed. I thank them for seeking out my children when they have been sad or lonely or frustrated and for always making them feel special.

Hawthorne teachers are really good at making kids feel special.

Last year was a rough year for me as I spent twelve long days in the hospital. Maggie's teacher, a dear woman whom each of my girls had the privilege of having for fourth grade, took her aside each day to check in to see how she was doing. Maggie was having a tough time with my being sick and away from home for so long, but this dear teacher took the time to nurture Maggie through my illness, even writing notes to her (and to me) and stopping by the house once I got home to bring a gorgeous fruit basket.

It makes me cry to think of what that precious woman did for each one of my girls.

And she's not an exception--every Hawthorne teacher goes the extra mile to meet the needs of each student in the school, whatever that need may be. How many times have I seen teachers give a pat on the back or take their lunch hour to help someone who might need a little extra time or just take a moment in the hallway to talk to a student. It happens every time I walk in the building.

Prayer. Strangely, our little public school taught me how to pray. Well, O.K., not the school specifically, but because of the school I learned how to pray. I led a Mom's In Touch group for several years, and the discipline of praying for our children and for their teachers each week taught me so much. It taught me a pattern of prayer that I still use today. It taught me that praying for an hour seems like praying for a minute. It taught me that praying for my children is the most important thing I could do for them. It taught me that prayer really does make a difference.

So today I leave this "Little School with a Big Heart" and I find that I am a much better person because of the people I've encountered there. I am a much better mom because of what my kids have experienced there.

My heart is full today. Full of memories. Full of love. Full of thanks.

We will never forget you, Hawthorne School.

Don’t Even Get Me Started!

Some days . . . oh, let’s be honest here . . . most days, I watch my kids and wonder where in the heck they came from.

They out-do me.

They out-smart me.

They pretty much out-everything me.

Before I left last week, Abby asked me if she could have a plain white sheet. She needed it for a backdrop for a play that her class is doing this week. (Don’t even get me started on that play. It’s an amazing assignment, the culmination of an entire year’s work in Advanced Freshman English. The kids have to write their own Shakespearian play, create the set and the costumes, and perform it. It’s so worthwhile it’s ridiculous. But does Abby want me to come see this play? No. But don’t get me started . . . )

So before I left for California, I stopped at Target and got a king sized plain white sheet which another girl in their class sewed together with another king sized sheet. That’s one big backdrop!

Over the weekend, every time I called home, poor Abby, when she wasn’t practicing for her violin recital which I missed on Sunday (again, don’t get me started!), was down in the basement painting the backdrop for her class play. One girl came over on Saturday to help her paint, but mostly it was Abby’s job.

On Sunday night, when I got home, she was just finishing up this humongo project, so I went down to see it. I really wish I had brought my camera to the basement with me, because this is one beautiful backdrop. Abby had done such a fantastic job on it, creating a carnival-like scene complete with a ferris wheel and a game booth. It was so cute.

When we headed back upstairs I asked Abby how much time she had spent over the past few days, painting this backdrop. She figured out that she had put in over 13 hours, not including the additional couple of hours that her friend had helped her.

And do you know what? . . . (this is the part that really puts me to shame) . . . Abby never complained. She just got to work and painted. She never said to me, “Mom, this totally stinks. I wish I didn’t have to do this. I wish I had help.”

Nope. She just said, “I have to do this job. It’s a big job, but I have to finish it.”

And that’s what she did. She worked until the job was done.

I learned something from Abby this weekend (when I wasn’t even home). I learned that complaining is useless. It gets me nowhere. Complaining is for cowards who are afraid to work hard.

What will get me somewhere will be just plain digging in and getting the job done. On time. Without complaining.

On Monday morning Abby folded it up and took that huge backdrop, completed, to her class. She should have been proud of her work. But I guess not everyone in her class was impressed—the kid in charge of the play found fault with her work. (Don’t even get me started on that one, either!)

So I guess Abby learned something too. She learned that no matter how hard you work, someone will criticize. Someone will belittle. Someone will find fault. But Abby handled even that hardship with grace, as she does most things.

And watching her, I learned something else this week: Abby is the brave one.

Are you KIDDING me?!

The only athletic injury I ever received happened when I was downhill skiing as a sophomore in high school. On my first run that day I wiped out and knocked out my two front teeth.

Real athlete, huh?

Never one to be deterred by a little cosmetic mishap, I've definitely gotten on the sticks again, but never the little, tiny, skinny sticks.

But after six, yes, SIX days off school (don't even get me started on that one) the girls and I were climbing the walls, so we decided to head to our local golf course to enjoy a nice, relaxing afternoon on the ski trails.

All I can say is, "Are you KIDDING me?!" Fun, maybe. Relaxing? No way.



This is Maggie, but it might as well have been me all tangled up in my skis. Oh, and did I mention that I fell right as we hit the trail? Literally.

At least it was a beautiful day.




And we did have a great time together.

But I kind of wish I had been heading here:

In the Blink of an Eye

Kate and B aren’t home today. They left last night to drive a few hours to a state that doesn’t even border ours to visit a college that we know very little about.

It’s her first college visit.

On Saturday night, as I was going to bed and Kate was in her usual spot in front of the computer doing her last check on Facebook and catching up on blogs, I stopped to kiss my girl goodnight. I looked into those big, blue eyes and saw in them the little girl I knew not so very long ago.

And my heart pulled just a bit.

“How did you get so big so fast?” I asked as I stroked her beautiful, silky, brown hair in much the same way I would have when she was young.

She didn’t have to say anything. We both knew the answer.

Overnight.

One Goal for 2009

Someone in the next room sounds like Marilyn Monroe. I don’t know who it is among the eight or so teenagers in there doing Karaoke, but someone’s got the sultry thing going on.

Wow.

One person I’m pretty sure it isn’t is my daughter. She doesn’t do anything subtly, quietly. No, you always know when Kate’s around because she’ll be the one having a great time, laughing louder than everybody else, enjoying every minute of life as only she does.

Kate never glides gracefully into a room, she barrels. She doesn’t just laugh, she guffaws. She doesn’t just “like” something, she “LOVES” it.

My oldest teenager embraces life like the Puff-a-Lump bunny she embraced when she was a baby—she never lets go. When “Booey,” as we called it, became just too shredded to take to bed anymore, I put it through the wash and quietly tucked it away in the basement. But the level of shredded-ness just proved that Kate loved that bunny fiercely, just as she loves life today.

She seems to have come out of the womb grasping for the brass ring. She knows better than just about anyone that life has so much to offer. She doesn’t understand what “down days” are because, frankly, I don’t think she’s ever had one. She is, without a doubt, the most “up” person I’ve ever known.

I have learned so much from that kid over the past 17 years.

• I’ve learned that if you are taller than everyone else in your entire middle school, you might as well use it to your advantage.

• I’ve learned that if you make some personal goals, like, say, to get good grades, you might as well work hard to get the best grades you can.

• I’ve learned that working hard is a good thing.

• I’ve learned that it’s important to be a good sister every day.

• I’ve learned that if you’re going to London you might as well just go to Paris too.

Every day that karaoke-singing, belly-laughing, big-hug-giving girl reminds me to embrace life, to embrace friends, to embrace family, and to love them with all the enthusiasm I can muster.

It’s 2009. I hope this year I can remember this one simple lesson that my oldest daughter has taught me.

She Likes Me, She REALLY Likes Me!

I’ve tried about thirteen different ways of starting this post, but none of them seem to do it justice. You see, I’m letting you in on the big reveal today. I’m showing you the gift I got this year that just undid me.

First of all, let me say that I love all three of my girls with every bit of my heart. Each one is special in her own way, and each one tries her best to make me feel special every day.

I am blessed. Beyond belief, I am blessed.

So it doesn’t seem quite right to single out one of my girls for doing something special for me, but today I’m going to do just that because I think you’ll appreciate it almost (but never quite) as much as I did.

About two weeks before Christmas, Maggie went into panic mode. She had known for a few weeks what she wanted to make me for Christmas, but she hadn’t started working on it. Finally, she got herself set up at a desk in the basement and started working. She worked for hours, all by herself in the basement—everything was top-secret. Should I happen to head downstairs for something, Maggie would yell, “Mom, cover your eyes! Don’t look!”

So I played along. I figured that if Maggie was working so hard on my gift, I surely would want to be surprised by it.

Now, here’s the “bad Mommy” confession . . . I was a little worried. I mean, a homemade gift from a 10 year old—how great could it be, really? And what would it be? I figured she was drawing me a picture; it would be nice, for sure, but I’d probably open it and say, “Oh, Maggie, that’s nice. Thank you so much.” And then I’d file it away and forget about it.

That’s my selfish self talking, and I know it. The selfish self that I despise so much but who keeps popping out at the worst possible moments.

Well, good news—my selfish self got a good kick in the butt this Christmas when I opened the actual gift that Maggie made for me.

Are you ready? Here it is:



And here’s the back side:



Christmas morning stopped dead in its tracks when I opened this most precious of gifts. All of that hard work and secrecy in the basement had turned into a calendar that Maggie made for me which read “12 months, 12 reasons to love Mom.”

Each month lists a different reason why my girl loves me. Wanna hear them? I knew you would.

January – “Reason #1: Your warm, motherly hugs.”
February – “Reason #2: You being FUN!”
March – “Reason #3: Friday – home for lunch day!!!”
April – “Reason #4: You help me grow in the Lord.”
May – “Reason #5: You love me SO much!”
June – “Reason #6: You really care about me!”
July – “Reason #7: You want the best for me.”
August – “Reason #8: You’re a great cook!”
September – “Reason #9: You’re the best mom ever!”
October – “Reason #10: You cheer me up when I’m sad.”
November – “Reason #11: You’re supportive”
December – “Reason #12: You’re my mom!”

Now, I’m not much for tears; I try to hold them in as much as I can. But on this Christmas morning, leafing through the calendar that my precious daughter had painstakingly made for me, the calendar that reminds her and me every month of why I do what I do, the floodgates opened and I wept tears of joy, gratitude, and love for this little girl who loves me so much.

Never was a mother so humbled.

Never was that selfish self proven wrong and kicked so hard to the corner.

I’d like it very much if she’d never come back.

Caution: Spoiler Alert

I'm going to tell you about Santa. If you don't want to know the truth, don't keep reading.

O.K., I admit it, we played Santa with our kids when they were little. It was fun. It was harmless. Don't judge me, please.

I had determined when they were born that I would not lie to my children--about anything. Of course, you might be thinking that even playing Santa for your kids is a form of lying. Semantics, I say. Anyway, I had decided that if questions started coming up about Santa, I would answer them as truthfully as I could. I would even tell "the secret" if pushed.

About five years ago, I had the last "Santa talk" with Maggie.

I remember it like it was yesterday. It was shortly after Christmas, and the girls and I were at the local mall, probably exchanging a sweater for something more useful. At any rate, the time came for lunch and we headed to our favorite place to eat in the mall--A & W--where you can not only get a frosty mug of root beer, but you can also get your complete fat intake for the week in one chili cheese dog. Heaven.

So we were sitting at one of their "high" tables with the stools, happily munching on fries and sipping ice cold root beer when Maggie blurted out, "Mom, is Santa Claus real?"

I think I spewed root beer all over the table. Where was this coming from?

So I started "the talk" as I had started with each of my older girls. "Maggie, I am not going to lie to you. Are you sure you want to know?"

"Yes, I think so," was her reply. I've found, after having been through this three times, that they usually don't ask the question until they pretty much know the answer.

So we trudged forward.

"You're sure? Because if you're sure, I'm going to tell you."

"Yes, Mom! I'm sure."

"O.K." I said. And then I simply and slowly shook my head.

Quietly, her reply came. "I thought so," she said.

"Are you sad?" I asked.

"Kind of," she said with tears forming in her beautiful brown eyes. "But I kind of knew it was you. Santa's handwriting looks just like yours. Why didn't you try to disguise it?"

Good question, I thought. But the reason I never tried to disguise it, I told her, was because I sort of wanted them to figure it out. The whole Santa thing was fun, but didn't need to be carried on until they were teenagers. I figured by the time they were five or six they would put two-and-two together.

We sat in silence for a minute, and then came Maggie's next question. "Mom, does that mean you're also the tooth fairy?"

"Oh, Maggie, I'm so sorry. Yes," was all I said.

I could feel her world shifting beneath her, and I felt so terrible that there was nothing I could do about it. Things were changing for my baby, and I couldn't stop it. She would look at the world differently from here on out.

Maggie sat quietly, contemplating.

I sat nervously, awaiting the next question.

"Mom," she finally said, "if you're Santa AND the tooth fairy, . . . then don't even tell me about the Easter Bunny!"

One Dog, One Dad, and One Logical Thinker

We’re nothing in this house if not passionate. You’d think we were Italian with the way we argue, debate, raise our voices, and get all excited about the silliest things. We’re not Italian, but I am wondering if one German and one Dutchman equal one Italian.

From the beginning of our relationship, B and I have debated just about everything. (For the record, neither of us are lawyers, but one of us should have been!) Over the past 25 years, we have fought argued discussed our way through various issues. Everything from politics to which direction the carpet should be vacuumed.

There’s very little gray area between us. The good thing is that we almost always know what the other person is thinking. We might not like what the other person thinks--and we’ll say so--but there’s hardly ever any underlying “stuff” between us.

This has made some people uncomfortable over the years. Our college friends just shook their heads at us, wondering how on earth we would ever make a marriage work. One friend even suggested that B just “give it up” (meaning me!) because “she isn’t worth it.”

Harrumph!

More than 25 years together, and we’re doing just fine thankyouverymuch.

Anyway, last week our analytical ways came back to bite us. More specifically, they came back to bite B. I guess we underestimated the power of those "little ears."

On a typical morning, B will kiss me goodbye at 5:30 a.m. as he’s heading out the door to the gym. I’m usually in a semi-comatose state, so I may or may not groan my goodbye to him. But one morning last week he skipped his workout because he was tired. Why was he tired, you ask? Because Thunder woke him up at 3:00 a.m. to go outside.

Now, this hardly ever happens. In fact, I can’t remember the last time it happened. So it was strange. There had to be something wrong with the dog that day because not only did she need to be let outside in the middle of the night, but she also threw up on a rug. I found that pleasant little package when I got up.

So B was sitting at the table eating breakfast when Maggie came downstairs.

“Hi, Dad! What are you doing here this morning?”

“I slept in a little because your dog got me up last night.” (Did you catch that? YOUR dog?)

“Really? Thunder got up in the middle of the night?”

“Yeah. And I had to let her outside. At 3 in the morning. And then she threw up on the rug. I don’t like your dog very much, Maggie.”

So about a minute of silence passed between them. B had gone back to the newspaper, and Maggie was quietly eating her breakfast.

“Dad?”

“Yeah?”

“If I got you up at 3:00 a.m. to go to the bathroom and then threw up on the rug, would you not like me anymore either?”

Looks like he may have met his match.

One More Reason to Hate Halloween

I promise, this will be the last time I mention Halloween on this blog this year. But I just couldn't let this go.

For the record, I hate Halloween. I am a Halloween Grinch. And it has very little to do with the "true meaning" of Halloween and all that. It's because I'm not creative or crafty.

Starting in early September I get knots in my stomach when I think about having to come up with a costume. And buy candy. And carve pumpkins. The whole thing just makes me break out in hives.

None of it--and I mean NONE of it--is fun for me.

I am so glad my girls are getting older. Two of them did not dress up this year, and Maggie thought up her own costume. (Too cute--she wanted to be a chef. All we had to do was go to a local restaurant supply house and buy the jacket and hat. Easy peasy!)

So my week last week was anxiety-ridden, what with all the hoopla and build-up surrounding yesterday's festivities. And to top it all off, Maggie had summoned me to the Halloween party at her school.

"Pleeeeaaase, Mom? It's the LAST Halloween party I'll ever have."

How could I say no?

The night before Halloween, as we were sitting around the dinner table, Maggie's school principal called. No, he didn't call US personally, he called everyone in the school collectively. They have one of those call-everybody-at-once systems that comes in real handy sometimes, like when a child is nearly abducted in the neighborhood and they need to alert parents to be "extra vigilant" with our children.

But I digress.

Mr. Patterson called us while we were eating dinner, and the reason for his call was to remind everyone of the "costume standards" that were expected the next day.

No knives.
No fake blood.
No masks.
No weapons of any kind.
Nothing depicting any gore.

Basically, the girls could come dressed as Laura Ingalls Wilder and the boys could be Alfonzo.

Anyway, we were expecting this call--it comes every year--so after I hung up the phone we were all talking about it. "Isn't it just too bad that kids have to be reminded to not bring this stuff to school?" I asked. "Who would want to have a gory costume anyway?"

And then the high schoolers piped up.

"Mom, that's nothing. Today our principal had to make an announcement reminding kids in our school that they couldn't dress up as Playboy Bunnies."

"What?! Are you serious?" My husband and I spoke in unison.

"Oh yeah," Kate replied. "Last year there were all kinds of girls dressed up as, ah, sleezy jailers with handcuffs and everything."

Oh yeah, just put that on my ever-growing list of reasons to hate Halloween.

And consider my world officially rocked.