For my number one fan

They say the surest way to a mama's heart is through her kids.

Never has this been more true in my life. I am painfully aware of the wondrously lush group of friends that we have been blessed to know here in St. Louis. It didn't take our impending move for us to appreciate them either. I could write posts for days about the fabulous people I'm blessed to have in my life.  Friends that really are family.  Kids that are like cousins.  Girlfriends that are the sisters I never had.  We got lucky when we moved here. Lucky because a fabulous group of women opened their hearts to me, and naturally, my kids.

One friend in particular I'd like to talk about today. And it's not because he has dubbed himself my "number one blog fan."

Though, I have to say, I am flattered to have such a distinction.  Honestly, I'm just thrilled to even HAVE a fan. (And possibly wondering who paid him off.)

But, no, the reason I want to talk about this kid is because he's amazing and deserves a blog post all his own.

Meet Nick.

Nick is a boy whom we met our first week here in 2007. Their family had just moved from Connecticut about seven months prior to our move to St. Louis.  They matched up perfectly to our family in every way.  I could write post after post about the things his mom has done for me.  Oh wait, I did.  And here, too.  Aaannnd here.

See?  Told you they were amazing.

Anyway.  Back to Nick.

Nick is the same age as Chase.  While they differ considerably in height, they are a perfect match in every other way.

Nick, much like Chase, roots for the underdog and has no tolerance for hate.  He is one of the kindest souls I've ever met.  He is funny without being obnoxious. (Yes, Mindy.  It's true.  We all find Nick hilarious.  Make peace with that.)

He cheers my boy on at every race, while brushing off any praise for his own (far superior) time.  When Nick took first place in the district junior high track meet?  He was more happy for Chase, who took third.  Because he knew just how far Chase had come.  His smile matched my boy's that day, and my heart melted at the love shown by Nick.

And last year, when he was the last in his class to graduate from primary, his attitude was as cheerful as the eager, new Sunbeams.  He didn't sulk or pout his lot in life, as many before him have done.  He raised his hand with questions, listened when I was teaching, and taught me more than he'll ever know.

Nick is not jealous or petty.  He is not concerned with appearances or the pervasive middle school curse of trying to look "cool."  He is confident, yet humble.  He is eager to have fun and wants to make sure no one gets left out.

He is my son's best friend.

Lord help him, but he loves my goofy boy, even when Chase does his Gollum impression.  He helps my boy to push himself harder with the running, and is always there to cheer him on.  He listens for hours to talk of airsoft guns and World War II.  He gives of himself freely, and asks nothing in return.

His mom quite often jokes and apologizes for his goofiness.  What she does not know is this:  There is a special place in this mama's heart for goofy boys.

After all, I'm raising two and married to one.

Goofy boys are pretty much the bomb.

So thanks, Nick, for making Chase's time here the best of his young life.  Thanks for being a true friend, and for loving us in spite of ourselves.  We fully expect to see your family often.  Texas is not that far away.

Friends like you are worth their weight in gold.

5-7-9

Today, my newborn baby boy started high school. It's a little hard to imagine how he is getting from class to class, what with his being like FOUR DAYS OLD and all. But maybe someone gave him a piggy back ride? Helped him open his locker with his tiny, peeling, newborn fists?

I do hope so.

Because I'm sort of a wreck just thinking about it.

All day long, I've been chomping at the bit, anxiously awaiting his arrival home.

And, thanks to the cross country practice, he won't get here until dinner time.

By which point, I expect he's grown a full beard, has a job, and four kids of his own.

Don't mock.  It feels about that long since he WAS a newborn. They always told me it would go so fast. When I had three kids under age four, I fervently hoped it was true with every fiber of my being.  The days were endless, and the nights - anything but restful.  It was one long sleep-deprived millennia, dotted here and there with moments that made it all worth while.

Like when they were all asleep at the same time.

But now that they're fun, interesting, and like the same movies as me? I'd sort of like time to just stand still for a moment.  To freeze the laughter that fills the air like a thick fog when we watch Seinfeld re-runs together.  To remember their sharp wit, and bottle up the occasional hugs from their long, gangly bodies.  To hold on to them for just a little longer.

Sigh.

The other two were much more nonchalant as they headed out the door this morning.

The middle child is smack dab in the middle of his middle school career. He knows the ropes, he has his friends, and it's all not nearly as exciting as the 900 hours he taped for Shark Week.

But, man, do I love him something fierce.

And my baby girl.  Starting what will be our final year of elementary school. She is as dramatic as she always has been. What with the ASSIGNED SEATS AT LUNCH, UGH. And actual HOMEWORK required of her. But still. I forgive her for growing up because she flies into my arms with a choking squeeze as soon as she gets off the bus.  Never knowing which one of us really needs that touch more.

I think it's going to be all right.

Plus?  We're now one day closer to summer vacation next year.

Celebrating the important holidays

 

Yesterday was a big day.

In case you didn't know, it marked its 68th year.

Around here, this holiday is probably second only to Christmas for one of my children.

Still clueless?

Then you must be new around here.

You see, every year, on June 6th, we celebrate the allied invasion at Normandy during World War II. Otherwise known as D-Day. Or Operation Neptune. Or Operation Overlord.

I know all these things, you see, because he tells me.  Every year.

Whatever you call the day, it's a big deal in the heart of my boy.

First thing out of bed, rubbing the sleep from my eyes, his face is in mine, as he wishes me a Happy D-Day. He then proceeds to follow me around the house, sharing time lines and details from that morning long ago. He doesn't just find it interesting; he breathes it in his soul. His passion spills over to the rest of us, and we can't help but get caught up in it, too.

(Though, for his brother and sister, I suspect a lot of the enthusiasm comes from the annual cake that Chase makes to celebrate.)

This year, it was a tank, made up and created entirely by Chase.



So, fallen brothers at Normandy, let your souls be at peace. All the way across the pond, in a little suburb of St. Louis, a 12-year-old boy remembers your sacrifice.

And makes sure that none of us forget it either.



I think it's pretty freaking awesome.

You could set your watch by it

It's not the warm, muggy weather that is starting to creep in and make you sweat all over.

It's not the lack of homework or plethora of school functions four out of the five nights per week.

It's not even the sudden urge to stop eating and drop 40 pounds because OH MY GOSH it's time to get into a swimsuit.

Though that is a serious problem.

How do you know that summer is almost here? These fabulous hair cuts, that's how.

Six years running, people.  That is a lot of hair history.

I give you the Mohawk Brothers of 2012.

Before:

And after:

I was hoping to find an explanation for behavior like this, but sadly, I don't think we can blame it on the mohawks.  I think we can blame it on the fact that they are boys.

And boys will always be boys.

Welcome back, summer. It's good to see you, old friend.

I can't fault his logic

The other day, I walked in the kitchen to discover Chase shoveling food into his mouth from a bowl using only his fingers. At once disgusted and humored, I asked him if he needed a fork.

His response was classic Chase --

"No. What I really need is a bigger mouth."

Twelve + six days

Dear Chase,

Last Friday, you turned twelve. You have been pretty excited about it and all the milestones that come with turning twelve. I'm left wondering when exactly twelve years came and went. It doesn't seem to be slowing down, either.

You are shooting up right before our eyes, and I am often tempted to measure you at night before you go to sleep. I swear, you are taller every morning. It is killing your big brother that you are taller than him. But you don't make it an issue, you don't rub it in. When people comment on that fact, you just shrug your broad, lanky shoulders and smile. Like it's no big deal.

Would that everyone had a brother as good as you, Chase.

The big excitement of this year is that you are now old enough to get your own gun.

It should not surprise any of us that the gun you picked is a replica of an old gun -- a collector's item -- and not necessarily one we can pick up at the local sporting goods store. It had to be special ordered, purchased through a federally licensed firearms dealer, and brought across state lines with lots of red tape and paperwork. This is pretty typical of you, Chase, as you have always prided yourself on being anything but ordinary.

You are one of a kind.

And we thank god every day for that fact.

This year, you also entered another milestone - that of middle school. It nearly tore my heart in two to watch you saunter so easily to the bus stop with your brother. Watching the two of you walk, the happy banter between you going back and forth, brought back a flood of memories. Memories of the two of you in diapers, playing together - best friends, even then. I can't count the hours spent watching your two heads bent together over a set of legos or sitting exhausted on a park bench, wondering if you'd ever run out of energy.

Which you never did, by the way.

And here you are, taking more independent steps away from me with grace and ease, and growing into a very fine young man in the process.

You are still such a sensitive little soul, and I hope you never lose that. Your kindness for the underdog in every situation has drawn friends to you that others wouldn't have the patience for. You don't mind the quirky kids, the ones with the special needs. In fact, you are so good at looking beyond their limitations and only see the best in them.

Quite frankly, you see the best in everyone.

Your quest for knowledge is as alive as ever. Gone are the days where you need anyone's help to satisfy your thirst for information. Quite often, it's me asking you about something, and without fail, you are always spot on with the right answer. Your brain is a sponge, kid.

And I have no doubt that should we ever find ourselves in a survival situation, I will live through it because of you.

Chase, your heart is pure gold. You love unconditionally and without guile. You draw others in and love them wholly.

There is nothing I love more than your lone dimple in a big smile - it lights up my world. You are so special and you have taught me more about kindness than anyone else ever could. You make me a better mom. You make me want to be worthy of the trust god placed in me when he made you mine.

I love you, kid. Happy twelfth birthday.

Love,

Mama

Testing my patience

Today's lesson in the culinary arts comes from Chase.

When you want to make a shake after a long, hard day at school, it is wise to remember one thing before starting:

Make sure the bottom is put on the blender BEFORE you pour the #!@$ milk and it runs all over the counter and floor.

Also of note: The blender is hereby off-limits to sixth grade boys pending further notice.

Adorable new smiles notwithstanding.

A five-thousand dollar smile

Today was a very big day in the Chase world. Probably the biggest he's known so far. I'll let his note do the talking:

It says:

Dear Siblings:
I am down stairs with my bran-new smile. Mom got me a cake and this. Please come see me.

Chase

P.S. Eat my goody bag*
P.P.S. MP are 40 tokens**

In case the full-sugar soda and "bran-new smile" don't clue you in, he got his braces off today. He about broke the dentist chair with happy feet when they told him the good news.

I doubt his brace-face brother will feel the same joy.

Here's hoping the cake at least cheers him up.

* The orthodontist handed him a gigantic goody bag full of all the treats he has been unable to eat for the last 18 months. Seemed contrary to good oral hygiene practices, but seeing as I ate a few things out of it myself, who am I to complain?

** The orthodontist also has been giving them tokens every visit and he and McKay have their eye on something Xbox related that is called MP. I have no clue.

Having the want to serve

This afternoon, my boys came begging to have a lemonade stand. Seeing as how we had zero lemons in the house, and I had zero desire to drive and buy the aforementioned lemons, that business idea fell flat on its lemony face.

Next they wanted to have a bakery.

Tragically, it was a half hour before dinner time. And since I am a complete OCD freak an organized household coordinator, I nipped that one in the bud, too.

You know.

Seeing as how treats take at least a half hour to bake, another half to cool, and a third half for me to stop eating them long enough for the kids to sell them to the maybe one person who would be wandering our street at that hour. Our neighborhood? Del Boca Vista. Everyone is sound asleep in bed around here by five o'clock.

Hearts heavy, and all the business acumen nearly drained from their souls, they thought of a third potential business venture.

Internet, I give you the Fall & Leaves Co. Which is apparently very strong in religious acts.

Interesting question to ponder (aside from how one goes about becoming very strong in religious acts) is exactly where the business plans to acquire two leaf blowers, a dozen rakes, and hundreds of leaf bags. Because I'm pretty sure that I own none of those things.

Seeing as how our neighborhood does most of our lawn care for us and all.

Details. Getting in the way of budding entrepreneurs every day.

A letter to my son

Dear Chase,

Please consider yourself very fortunate that you inherited genetics which would assemble in such a way as to provide you with a ridiculously cute face.

Were it not for that, my darling son, I do believe at this very minute you might not be alive.

You see, Chase, your Mama saved all her bad TV watching until such time as you were back in school. Not wanting to take away precious time spent with you this summer, Mama selflessly gave up her Bravo Housewives, her TLC Sister Wives, and her I'm-Really-Too-Crazy-To-Be-Believed-Jeff Lewis.

And this week, after you went back to school, Mama sat down to edit pictures with her beloved trash TV in the background. What Mama discovered was, tragically, that the DVR was full.

And not full of the trashy TV Mama likes, either.

IT WAS CHOCK-FULL OF THE SHARK WEEK.

Rest assured that the scream heard 'round the world at approximately ten thirty a.m. last Wednesday was me. And while I am proud as punch of your quest for knowledge, I must question the need for all 900 hours of shark-related television programming. Surely four or five hours would have sufficed?

Know this, sweet boy, should you ever entertain the idea of deleting ANY of Mama's shows from the DVR again, you will most certainly not make it to your next birthday.

And since I know how fond you are of birthdays in general, I suggest not touching the Mama's DVR.

All my love,

Mama

P.S. Please also remember to wear the deodorant. I hear sharks are attracted to B.O.

Mama's melancholy smile

The morning started smooth and easy, a familiarity to the long-forgotten routine of showers, lunches, and backpacks. It was maybe an exceptional morning in that they were served a hot breakfast, instead of fending for themselves with the cold cereal and the eggo waffles.

They seemed so comfortable with what lay ahead. No nervous chatter. No endless questions. Their serene state and happy attitudes filled the air like a thick, warm blanket.

Yes, they both answered for the fourth time, they had everything.



The oldest boy politely inquired about exactly where the first-day photos would be taken. He smiled and shrugged his shoulders, embarrassed and slightly worried that he'd hurt his mama's feelings. Knowing the bus stop has been off limits for several years now, she reassured him that all the photos would be taken from afar.

The boys laughed at each other, and hugged their mama tight. Glancing nervously around to be sure there were no witnesses, they posed for the obligatory photos outside.

They turned without another thought and walked to the bus stop, chatting together.

Their mama's heart broke just a little bit.

One boy forgot his schedule and came tearing home to get it with a sheepish grin on his face. His mama laughed and told him to hurry, shaking her head in just that way mamas do when they know they were right.

And then, the big, yellow bus came and took them away. As it seems to do with increasing frequency every year.

The little girl was surprisingly easy to rouse from her sleep. In spite of her pleas to be home schooled forever, she was ushered downstairs and fed a hot breakfast of her own. She moaned and complained, worrying needlessly about lunch table assignments. She debated out loud about various hair styles for the day. She happily slipped into her new clothes.

She sat on the driveway waiting for the bus, not afraid to take the pictures with her mama. She posed in several spots and offered suggestions for the best angles. Her mama smiled, hugged her, and laughed at the little girl who seems to know it all.

They talked for a few minutes, and then in the distance, a familiar rumbling was heard. The squeaky brakes left no doubt that her turn was soon upon them.

She hugged her mama one last time, put on her very best smile, and climbed aboard.

With summer freckles on their noses, excitement in their toes, and melancholy in their mama's heart, they begin another year.

One for the grandparents

What do you do when it's 104 degrees outside WITHOUT the humidity heat index? When the pool feels like warm bath water and you've already been to see two movies?

Answer? You clean up your three babies, make promises of ice cream, head to your favorite greenhouse, and snap a few pictures. That's what you do.

Then you sit down to edit and cry when you realize they are just not babies any more.

The one where we brag for the grandparents

In 2004, I ran my first (and last) marathon.

I trained for months, read Runners World faithfully, and talked about running ad nauseam to anyone who would pretend to listen.

I pretended thought I knew a lot about running.

Fast forward to four years ago when we moved here and I met my friend Mindy. While humble and quiet about it, she knows all there is to know about the sport of running. She has trained elite athletes and coaches. She has run umpteen marathons. Her personal record for the mile? Has a very, very small number in front of it. She'd never tell you that herself, but girlfriend is hard core.

Chase has discovered this past year that he is a runner. He loves it and has been putting the miles on his shoes. He went from running the mile at school a year ago in 12 minutes to running it in 6:56 this year. He's thrilled and continues to push himself.

So when Mindy told us about a kids track club, we were all over it. And last night, they had their very first meet. It was a mile run, and nerves were running rampant.

And that was just the moms.

Here is Chase in the pack as they cross the starting line:



It was not long before we saw Mindy's son Nick leading the pack. Setting a new personal best and winning the kids event, here is Nick crossing the finish line:



Yes. That is a FIVE-TWENTY-NINE for his time.

I am not sure I can walk into the grocery store from the parking lot in 5:29. The kid has lightening for feet.

While we are awaiting chip time results officially, we believe Chase broke his personal best for a finish time of 6:55 (or faster. Hurry up. Post the results, will you?)

And, yes, he finished with that Chasey flair we have come to expect:



Not long after that came Nick's eight-year-old sister, Olivia. Me thinks this little one will be taking after her mama, too. I am not sure I could do a sub-eight-minute mile.

Unless I had a bike. Even then, that might be pushing it.



All three of our little runners, smiles and happiness to be done:



It was a really fun event. Especially exciting was watching the elite men run a mile in, oh, I don't know, THREE-MINUTES-FIFTY-SIX-SECONDS.

Seriously.

I bow at the throne of running.

I think their faces say it all

Here's to:

No more tornadoes
sleeping in
fun vacations
lazy warm afternoons at the pool
sunshine
freckles
ice cold diet cokes
and the inevitable, interminable humidity.

Welcome back, summer. We've missed you, sister.

Five years running

It is that time of year, my friends.

The time of year where we pull out the shorts, wash the swim towels, and prepare to spend a fortune in keeping the pantry stocked.

It is also the time of year when we celebrate the impending summer with a little trip to the barber's chair.

As you can see, this handsome shag dog was beyond ready for a trim:

As was his brother, Justin Bieber McKay, whose hair was getting so big that his father threatened to trim it for him daily.

It is time to once again embrace the mohawks. Five years running now.

Yeah, baby.

I love it.

And, apparently, so does half the girls in the eighth grade. It has put our boy smack dab in the middle of a whole lot of female attention, and he has proclaimed the mohawk to be his new haircut of choice.

Here's to summer and her long absence from our lives.

[If only the weather would look at the calendar and catch up already. Sheesh.]