I can’t resist posting on this. I was just catching up on a million blog posts and news feeds and came across this article about San Francisco taking a stand against McDonald’s Happy Meal. As we now live in the San Francisco area I thought it an appropriate introduction! *giggle, snort*

Here’s the skinny:

So the city of San Francisco has taken a stand.

“In an effort to curb the swelling rates of kids who are overweight or obese, the city’s Board of Supervisors voted in favor of a law that would require any meals that package a free toy to include fruits and vegetables and contain no more than 600 calories or 35 percent of its calories from fat (about 210 calories or 23 grams of fat). The meals would also have to contain a beverage that’s not loaded with sugar or fat.

At a time when an estimated 17 percent of young people aged 2-19 years are obese and about an equal number are overweight, according to the Centers for Disease Control, the restriction on the popular Happy Meal is a worthy effort.”

Welcome to San Francisco.

So I’m walking out of my son’s elementary school this morning and I hear the beginnings of the national anthem. I can’t help but reflect on this concept of independence.

In general, I’m a huge supporter. I love American history and revel in readings of the stories, personalities and events that shaped our nation. I believe with all my heart that there was divine direction in the creation of this land of the free, and I’m grateful for this land that I call home. I’m grateful that our forefathers had the determination and courage to stand up against those who would oppress them and their freedoms. I proudly support what they stood for and the legacy they left us.

Where I have problems with independence is in the teen department. My problem isn’t with the concept of independence, it’s with the attitude teens propagate in general - that to declare their independence they must first declare war. *sigh* I read an article as a youth which left lasting impressions on me, in fact, it’s where this very phrasing of declaring independence came from. The author shared a story of a man trying to help a bee escape his office in an effort to save its life. However, the more the man did to help direct the bee to the safety of the open window, the more feisty the bee became, not only refusing the help but fighting against it. The result was a dead bee on the floor the morning after. The point of the story was how like the bee we often are, resisting and fighting back unnecessarily against those that would help us; in the end destroying ourselves. I knew then I didn’t want to be like that bee.

For years I’ve shared this counsel and story with youth I’ve worked with. Now, my daughter is entering the troubled waters of independence. I wish I could say it was going the way I wanted all the time, but alas the entire point of this life experience is to figure things out on our own. This morning she stormed out of the house murmuring a familiar reprise of the overly restrictive parent and a desire to escape. The culprit? A stupid item of clothing. In her mind, mom is making way too much out of it, the shorts aren’t too short and she should be allowed to make her own choices. In mom’s mind the shorts break school dress code and were only purchased by permission with her own money on the agreed compromise that this argument would never come up - that they would only ever be worn at home for play purposes. I wish I could help her see that her anger is really targeted at herself, that mom’s an easy scapegoat in the world of peer pressure. But wishing won’t make it so.

I find myself echoing the familiar words of choosing to stand for something. I worry that our youth today don’t really understand this, that they mistakenly believe that being part of the crowd is just the way things are and doesn’t really impact them or their future. When something as simple as how you dress can cause so much distress, I worry for the big items the future holds. Every person needs a strong sense of self and self worth to survive this crazy world. You don’t get that by succumbing to the pressures of following the crowd. You get it by being able and willing to stand up for all the things you believe in and that make you who you are, right down to your ’shorts.’ You can’t be ashamed to be who you are, even if it defies the loose standards of all those around you. The sad part of the shorts story is that it’s not really what my daughter wants or believes in but she can’t see that. She’s so blinded by the season of life and influence of friends and peers she can’t see how this belief is undefined, far from unique and not even her own. Yet she’s ready to enlist in a battle for it, to join the chorus of youth in defiance of rules and restrictive authority. I question now my giving in to any compromise at their purchase months ago. Maybe I should have said no way no matter what. But then how could she learn of consequences? How could she learn of making her own decisions and avoided the fateful trap of resentment which leads to a desire of rectifying to the ultimate extreme the day she’s completely free to make all her own choices? There’s a recipe for disaster, making decisions on purely emotional premises, worse premises imagined and exaggerated - this is the future of the feisty bee. I don’t want my daughter to be the bee, and I don’t want her to want to be the bee.

Now I know my daughter is young, I know these years are formidable and critical, I know she’s a good kid and I know that her wanting to wear short shorts is a drop in the bucket of real and serious issues. The problem is I also know that the adversary also knows she is young, that these years are formidable and critical and that she’s a good kid. He’s neither young nor good, and this frightens the snarf out of me. If she starts adopting the views, attitudes and beliefs of those around her now the chances of surviving these tumultuous years without scarring are nil. The saying goes that if you don’t stand for something you’ll fall for anything. I believe this simply analogy of the shorts is why, after all it all starts somewhere and it doesn’t start with fireworks; no it starts with the tiniest bit of wear and tear to weaken the fabric. Today it’s shorts, tomorrow it’s something bigger. Sadly, it’s all wrapped in the lies that there are no consequences, no accountability. The short shorts so typify all this, and so ends my analogy of the shorts.

But that’s all that ends. My efforts to help my daughter wade through the waters of independence will never end. Her learning life’s lessons of accountability are just beginning. Agency is given to all, but independence is earned. Earn it wisely my young friends, earn it wisely.

A lot has happened in the past couple of weeks. First, we got a call that Blake’s grandma Faye wasn’t expected to live beyond a few days to a few weeks. This is a picture of her (front row, third from the left) in 2003, when Taylor’s adoption was finalized.

Last summer, we visited her at the nursing home where she’s been living for the past 2 years. Time and dementia have taken their toll on her. Time has given my little Taylor several more feet of height too, but note that the platinum blonde hair remains as true as when he was one. Personally, I’m just grateful that the pacifier isn’t still affixed to his mouth, there were days when I wondered if we’d ever successfully lose it. But I digress.

The point is, you think you understand what it means to endure, or what the phrase “Endure to the end” means, and then you reflect on the aging/exit process of this life and realize you don’t know anything about it all. This wonderful woman who has lived a full life and always been so vibrant and strong is powerless against the powers of death. I hate this reality, I really do.

So for the past two weeks we’ve waited for the call that would initiate the drive to Idaho. We’re still waiting. I’m not sure what to think about that. On the one hand I’m utterly amazed at the human spirit and ability to cling to life when it seems impossible. On the other, I’m saddened that relief can’t be delivered for this loved one. And so I find myself thinking it’s too much to process and must think on other things.

So on we go to my second arena of thought: Madrid, Spain.

Last week I left a closing line on my post of wondering what I’d be thinking this week. Well, I’m still thinking…a lot. You know how the hourglass works; tiny beads of sand stream through a tiny opening to fill the bottom of the jar - you know eventually it will get down there, but sometimes the process feels impossibly slow. That’s this process in a nutshell. The long and short is that this possibility is still on the docket and gaining momentum every day. Six months from now I could be living in Madrid. This is about the time I feel my eyes going blurry from input overload and I’m back to the same point of needing to think on other things.

So right now I’m distracting myself with blogging. It’s a good distraction and one that I’ve not had much time for lately (nor my garden or yard by the looks of things.) As I look at this picture from 2003 my mind is flooded with thoughts and memories. Where does the time go? It wasn’t that long ago that he was small enough to cradle in my arms, not that long since he wrapped his little fingers around mine moments after birth. My cute little Cidderbug is younger in this photo than Taylor is today. That adorable little spirit is just as vibrant, only now it’s blossoming into a beautiful young woman. It’s a lot to process.

Let the games begin! Today is the first day for my kids to be out of school. I lucked out with the day off, which is great as I need to get so much done to be ready to travel to Vegas tomorrow!

I’m hoping our summer will even out and transitions will go well. June shouldn’t be too bad, but July may get ugly and I’m not just talking heat! I hope the transition of mom being at work won’t push dad over the edge with kids home while he’s trying to be productive. Hopefully a pattern will be found by then that will make it all work well.

I’m really enjoying being back in the work saddle. That sounds sick and twisted but it’s been fun. Things are just gearing up to start getting crazy, but I’m looking forward to the challenge and the finish line. I’m especially excited to find that so many skills have been building not dwindling in my years as a stay at home mom. Yay for motherhood!

Bring on the madness.

While walking out front the other day, I spied this tiny little nest sitting in my guava tree:

The entire thing would have fit neatly in the palm of a small child, yet the warmth and protection emanating from it would fill an entire heart. I couldn’t help but think about the representation it is of parenting. The time spent weaving a protective, safe, warm and nourishing environment for our children is a labor of love. Like these little birds, we make use of every available resource to protect our treasure inside. I don’t know if you can make it out in this photo or not, but the entire edging of this nest is a soft cotton like substance. I don’t know where it was found, or even what it is, I just know it added a layer of protective comfort that was almost tangible. How like a parent to creatively weave a little extra love and warmth into their efforts!

To pull down the branch and spy the contents was awesome. How cute are these adorable little jelly bean sized eggs? Kind of like our kids when they’re so tiny. Would that we could remember and retain this image in our heads when they try us as they grow! And try us they do and try us they will - some may even fall out of the nest. But one day they will be the parents, building their own nests of protection and love for their posterity. What will they have learned from us?

I hope I’m like these little birds. I hope I’m as diligent and dedicated to my job of protector and nurturer, that I’d give anything and everything to give my little ones every chance at reaching their potential. Some days it feels like I can only relate to squawking mouths! Then I see this visual and everything comes back into focus. No labor is too small, no element unimportant when it comes to parenting.

The tree is up:

Night treats and time together:

And a special treat of mini golf and a Cardinal’s game with Grandma & Grandpa:

It’s that time of year again for me. Well, actually I’m a little later than previous years but it’s been hotter longer this year and I’ve been working on serious back yard changes. This morning I was able to plant my garden seeds. I’m tickled because I’m finally making my backyard my own and getting projects done that allow me to garden the way I want.

The biggest project is moving my garden planting area into a decorative border framing my yard along the walls. It has been ongoing since the first of the month when we ordered 10 cubic yards of dirt, which by the way is a big pile of dirt. Then we had to dig up the grass - manually, and redistribute the dirt from the pile to the walls - also manually.

Saturday and today marked getting the first plants and seeds into this newly prepared area:

I’m excited to take pictures in a month or so when all that’s planted has had time to sprout and grow!

Two other projects include completing my new garden spot from this spring into transplanted roses, ornamental peppers and my newly planted salsa garden.

And getting the planter boxes replanted with herb seeds and giving Cidnie her own strawberry garden box. These are the plants, she’s also growing more plants inside to add later.

It will be great fun to post “before” and “after” photos in a few more weeks as well as in coming months. I have to give it up to my kids and husband who I literally dragged into this project with me. They were real troopers helping me. I personally believe the seeds sown working will one day sprout into important and valuable traits and skills that far surpass the immediate nature of garden veggies and pretty flowers. Although I love those too!

She keeps growing without permission. I find myself looking back at what felt like yesterday, even though the calendar says different, and wondering if I’ve given her everything I wanted to. I can’t help but think about life before my Cidderbug and how grateful I was to finally get her in my arms. Now she’s squirming away into the uncharted waters of young womanhood. Does she know how much I love her? Does she know how sad I am when she’s sad? How my heart aches when she struggles with something challenging? How proud I am of her every accomplishment?

Sometimes the daily hum drum of life drowns out the important things. I relive all the moments and mistakes when the patience ran thin. My memory is longer than hers for most of these things - thank heaven for tender mercies. We are our own worst critique they say. Most of the time I find myself treating my measuring stick like a bank register except I only ever seem to record the deficits. But then you get those glimmers when your child does something that makes your heart so proud it feels it might burst, those moments when you know you did something right. Those are the times when the Lord steps in and writes in your deposit for you.

Parenting is a whirlwind. It’s a crash course of learning you never knew possible. The climbs are harder and steeper than you thought you had the energy or strength for, and the views are incredible beyond description. The time you have them in your clutches is far shorter than the time they’ll spend being independent, yet when they’re young it consumes you to the point you can’t imagine them growing beyond you. And then you turn around and there they are looking back at you.

Amazing what a few minutes of building a marble run with my son will buy. *wink* Thanks to helping him build this I got a whole hour of nap time! Yay for marble runs!

Incidentally, as an owner of two sets, I have advice to share for anyone considering them. The first set I bought was a wooden one with colorful blocks and sections of rectangular runs. It looked fantastic but it showed manufacturing thoughtlessness in the design and cut. The run grooves were all completely flat so the marble wouldn’t roll; they should have been cut on an angle creating a slight slope. Unfortunately the blocks were all cut to the same sizes with no wedge pieces so if you tried to manually create a slope it would be too high or too low and cause the drop holes not to align. In short, it looked great and wood lasts, but it never worked as a marble run.

I should like to note here that as a little girl I remember hours spent playing with my cousin’s marble run. It was nothing more than a single column with sloping zigzag style rows. Proof to me that often less is more.

I purchased this plastic marble run set from a company called Mindware. It’s been a great toy and has been used and abused without breaking. My only wish on this set is that it had a few more collection bases for multiple runs and few more pieces. For example, there’s a 3 run connector piece that allows three runs to come to one hole for collection, but I’ve found the more helpful one would have been one that took one hole and split it out into several runs, especially as the connector unit’s runs are so short. Additionally, there’s a fun piece that sends the marble into a slot maze but there’s only one entrance and exit. Again, it would be even more fun if that piece had at least 2 or 3 different exit points adding more variation to the run. But all in all, this toy gets a 5 star rating from me and earning me a nap is icing on the cake!