Growth Spurt

Last night I dreamed that my son was a baby. He toddled up to me at the dinner table and I scooped him into my arms and cradled him while I visited with dinner guests. Then I asked him if he was sleepy and he nodded, so I released him (obviously planning to escort him to a nap) and he disappeared. I found him after several frantic moments – he was toddling around the house with my Aunt Penny. She was showing him different household items and teaching him their purposes. Aaron was absorbing it all, even with that sleepy little smile on his face. The dream was sweet and real and comforting.

And then I woke up. Life has a way of doing that to us, doesn’t it?

The truth of the matter is that I think I am not dealing well with my son growing up. Some co-workers and I chatted about this the other day (they are my built-in, always-on-call therapists). One mentioned that it seems easier watching girls grow up because they mature in small spurts and then plateau for a little while, so you have some time to get used to the growth. It sort of snuggles up to you and butters you up for the next big thing so that whatever lies just ahead isn’t such a mind-blower.

Boys’ growth just bitch-slaps the hell out of you and then moves on.

Aaron got his braces off last week. We’ve had a busy start to the school year, but it has been manageable, expected. Or so I thought. At this particular appointment, one orthodontic assistant came out to talk to me while others were finishing up with Aaron. She gave me a brief rundown on the progress of the treatment and then said, “It’s also time to get his wisdom teeth evaluated for extraction.”

Without thinking I blurted, “NO!”

Her eyes grew wide and she took a step back. “I’m sorry,” she said – it was half statement, half question.

I felt tears stinging the back of my eyes. Get it together, Lori. This lady did not look old enough to have kids at all, let alone a teenager, so the odds of her completely understanding my outburst were slim.

“No, I’m sorry,” I said, softening my voice, but still unable to control its shaking. “This is all too fast. You don’t understand – just two months ago he was four inches shorter. We shopped for clothes in the boys’ section last spring, and we shopped in the men’s section last week. He just turned 15, is about to start driving, and when he speaks, I turn to see what man has just come into my home.” There was no dawning recognition on her face, so I continued to sputter. “Now you want to talk about wisdom teeth, which I didn’t have to think about until I was in college – I can’t – I just can’t go there right now.”

She smiled, but pressed on. “Do you have an oral surgeon that your family uses already?”

My mind was still on my baby, who used to swing his feet from the booster in the backseat, but who now fills the backseat with barely enough room for his legs, another fact that slapped me in the face just the week prior. So I absently said, “No, my oral surgeon died.”

“Well, you don’t want to use him, then,” she retorted, which made me laugh out loud and sort of shook me back to reality. Aaron appeared behind her and we chatted about retainers and such before leaving with a bag full of every type of candy his braces had prevented him from eating in the last two years – and the business card of a local oral surgeon.

Touché, Life. Touché.

Ciao, 2013!

Tags

2013, photo recap, pics by the month, year in review

Is anyone else in as much shock as I am that 2013 is over?  I mean, we just got it started, right?  2012 flew by for us in uncertainty and anticipation.  2013 was supposed to creep.  Creeeeeeeeeeeeeep, I say!

But it didn’t.  It’s over.  Gone.  Just like that.  Poof!  Our first year in the new house, our first (and only) year of both kids in middle school, a quiet and peaceful year.  The year that was supposed to settle in, get comfy and stay a while slipped out like a welcome house-guest, leaving the borrowed blankets folded neatly on the sofa.  We hate to see that sweet guest go, but are grateful for the memories it left behind.

January:  Aaron’s first Social Studies project.  He’s more a Science Fair kinda guy.  But he had fun with this.

February: We finally finished building the fence.  Whew!!!!        March: Victoria’s birthday party, of course!!

April: Lady, my Father-in-law’s yellow lab, decided she wanted to help Dom mow the yard.  As you see, she’s all in!

May: The kiddos, hanging out and being sweet to each other.  (Cue collective awwwwww!)

June: You know there’s always at least one month with no notable pictures to speak of.  This is the one for 2013.  As I attempted to re-upholster the wing-back chair myself, this is one of the wounds I suffered.  I know, I know…big whoop.

July: Mabel is a food thief.  Here she has absconded with a hoagie roll that Aaron had made into a ham sandwich.  The entire hoagie, minus these two inches you see, is in her big fat mouth.

August: For the first time in Caddo Parish history, three Mainiero children are at the same school.  I had to document it.

September: Some mornings the sun shines just right through our front door and casts a rainbow on everything in its path.

October: This one deserves the video.  It just does.  We told Mabel that this is what happens to animals who steal food off of my kitchen counter.

November: I felt like the Grinch decorating his dog.  Except I think Mabel and Mason wear their antlers cuter than Max.  😉

December: The frosty, sunlit view from the deer stand. It was prettier in person.  The best part was watching the cardinals play as the sun came up.  You know, since the deer didn’t feel like coming out…

May your New Year’s celebrations be fun and safe.  And may 2014 bring you peace and joy.

Bad Santa

Tags

FedEx, gifts, guitar case, lost Christmas gifts, motherly madness, Santa

It all started on Christmas Eve, right about the time that I was congratulating myself for not stressing out over anything, for putting the joy of the season ahead of the tasks.  I really enjoyed Advent this year.  I even took a picture of the last lighting of the Advent wreath and bid the season a fond farewell on the afternoon of the 24^th, just moments before FedEx called me.

I almost didn’t answer the phone because I didn’t recognize the number.  Except that it was a 504-area code, meaning the New Orleans area and possibly the other half of my brain (aka Stacey) simply calling from a number I didn’t have on file.  So I answered with a cheerful, “Hellooooooo!”

That’s when I quasi-met a FedEx rep who was in communication with a driver in my area.  Jackpot!!  The last gift to arrive was finally en route to my door!  It was a gift for Aaron – some fancy Lord of the Rings posters that will look awesome in his room.  (You can’t beat a map of Middle Earth.  You just can’t.)   The voice on the other end of the phone proceeded to tell me that the driver had information that I had moved.

Uhhh, like a year ago, dude.  Let it go already.

I politely asked what address they had on file, half-impressed that they would even know my address from over a year ago.  But he pulled a mind scrambler on me when he rattled off my current address.  “No, we haven’t moved,” I assured him.  “In fact, I’m standing in the kitchen of that address right now.  Tell the driver to come on out!”  And with that we wished each other a merry Christmas and hung up.

Four days later, I have replayed that conversation a million times in my head.  I wish I had asked all the logical questions, like: Can the driver find us on a GPS?  Can he find my neighbors’ (in-laws’) address instead? Why exactly does he think we moved? How can FedEx not find me when UPS has been here every day for the past two weeks?  If he doesn’t make it to my house, where can I go to retrieve my package?  Oh, hindsight, curse you and your practicality.

I was not surprised when FedEx did not show before we left for Mass.  I was disappointed when they had not come by the time we returned.  I decided to tell Aaron all about the posters and how cool they were going to be when we received them on the day after Christmas, and how we would hang them up together and make his room look awesome.  He jumped up and hugged me with a huge smile.  Totally worth it.

Fast forward five hours.  We returned from the in-laws’ where we had our Christmas Eve celebration and I proceeded to pull out the last of the kids’ gifts to put under the tree.  They’re cool with me being Santa and all, but I still like Christmas morning to hold some surprises.  So my plan was to put the two largest gifts unwrapped and under the tree after they went to bed.  Vic was getting a zebra-striped gym bag and Aaron was getting a carrying case for his electric guitar.  I reached into the upper cabinet of the utility room where I had stashed the gym bag and looked for the guitar case.  No case.  No problem.  It must be in another cabinet.

Thirty cabinets, six rooms and two hours later I was still looking for the damn guitar case, and getting quite frantic in the process.  How could I lose something that is almost as tall as I am?  I had my hands on it earlier in the day when I pulled guitar picks out of the bag to decorate another package with.  What.  The.  Hell????

I looked in every possible hiding place three times, a fact that later made my father question my sanity. “If it wasn’t there the first time, what made you think….??”  Because when you realize that of five gifts, three of your son’s are ABSENT from Christmas morning, you panic and do irrational things.  Like cry in the hallway at 1am and accidentally wake up your daughter, who gets up to make sure you’re okay and then stays awake another half hour retracing your own steps in an effort to help.  Oh, sweet child.

Needless to say, Christmas morning came and went without those three gifts.  Aaron graciously opened up his other two gifts while I served myself a steaming cup of shame-on-me and profusely apologized for losing his biggest present.  While I focused on the mishap internally, it seems no one else did, for we continued our Christmas morning with the spirit in which it was meant to be celebrated.  And I went back to the guitar shop and bought another case on Friday, with the express understanding that if I find the lost one anytime soon I can easily return it.  That’s right, people.  I have rolled up my Christmas sweater sleeves and taken measures to right the wrongs.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to go throw down with FedEx.  I think I’ll offer an exchange…they give me my map of Middle Earth, and I’ll give them a map of Shreveport!!

It Takes a Village

Our son, Aaron, decided not long ago that he would like to try his hand at being an altar server at our church.  Training was scheduled for a recent Saturday morning and eagerly anticipated.  The night before the training, Dom asked Victoria (once again) to please consider being an altar server too.  Dom really wanted both kids to participate.  Victoria was adamant about not participating in this particular activity because, as she said, she would be “way too nervous and everyone would be watching” her.  Dom and I assured her that no, everyone would not be looking at her unless she was fidgeting with her ponytail or some other such distracting nonsense.  My advice was something along the lines of, “Keep your hands in your lap and fade into the background. People will be looking at the priest, not at you.”  When this did not satisfy her and she still refused to be trained, I let it go.  Dom, on the other hand, could not.

And this is where I had to just step back and let him be Daddy.  Having grown up Baptist, I had no experience with altar serving as a child, and no substantial encouragement to impart.  I was glad one of my children wanted to participate more actively in the Mass, and perfectly content with the other one wanting to stay in the pew.  I had no tools at my disposal with which to convince Victoria that she needed to serve, or even that serving would be fulfilling for her.  We are all called in different ways, I reasoned, and I was happy to leave it at that.  But when Dom’s gaze burned through me with that determined look as he said, “Let me talk to her; she needs to do this,” I sat my momma-bear-butt down and handed him the cub.

It took an hour and a half of talking, persuading, cajoling and reasoning, but before bedtime that night Victoria was on board with training alongside Aaron, provided that when she served, she would serve only with Aaron, to keep her nervousness to a minimum.  Reasonable enough.  The following morning, both of my children were trained to be altar servers.  And they both came home ecstatic about the thrill of serving, so much so that they have made certain to wear proper attire to Mass every weekend since, just in case a scheduled server is absent and one can take his or her place.  Aaron got the chance to step in for another server a couple of weeks before he was scheduled.  Vic was chomping at the bit.

Victoria was officially on the schedule for the first time this past weekend.  She was to serve alongside Mr. B., an adult member of our parish who would guide her through the Mass and help her with anything she might forget.    Right before Mass, though, Mr. B. suggested it would be a good idea for Aaron to take his place and the two siblings serve together, since Aaron had already had a “practice run” with Mr. B. by his side.  My kids were thrilled, if not a little bit nervous, while I practically turned to jelly in my anxiety for Victoria.  Aaron seems so unflustered by being in front of a crowd; he is at ease anywhere, and often wants to participate in things that my wallflower-self would have found daunting at his age.  Victoria, for all her extroversion, shies away from being anywhere near the center of attention.  My children are enigmas to me.

Several people gathering for Mass promised to help both kids with cues if they got stuck or confused about anything.  I heard repeated promises of, “If you’re not sure what to do next, look at me and I’ll give you hand signals.”  I loved that my church family was reaching out to help my babies serve.   During the Mass, Aaron and Vic had no fewer than five people scattered throughout the church giving them silent cues to what came next and offering smiles of reassurance.  I could tell by her expression that Victoria was hesitant and unsure at times, and I saw her frequently look to Aaron for cues, and then out into the crowd for extra validation.  Beside me, Dom was sideline coaching from our pew where our kids could not see us. I thought he was going to hurt himself whispering under his breath, “Ring the bell!  Ring the bell!!” before Victoria finally rang the bell firmly and perfectly.

At the end of Mass Father Francis publicly thanked Aaron and Victoria for being new altar servers and for doing such a fine job.  Our church family applauded and Aaron and Victoria smiled wide.  And my heart nearly burst open from being so full.

A (Broken) Wing and a Prayer

Tags

Blessed Mother, blessings, broken arm, Catholic, prayer, Rosary

Sooooooo, my clumsiness has finally caught up with me.  Friday afternoon I was trying to sneak a birthday surprise for the Big Boss into the office so I opted to come in through a back door carrying a large box.  (Shhhhhhh…it’s still a surprise!) Unfortunately, trying to be sneaky means that I was also trying to hurry while flying under radar.  Mistake.  My mom can (and gladly will) attest to my lifelong lack of coordination.

Mickey held the door for me while I scurried in…and down.  Before I knew it, my foot had stopped but my body had not.  I stuck out my free arm (thankfully, the left) and instantly felt the impact of the cement through my wrist, up my arm, and into my elbow.  I rolled over, cursing myself for being so careless and wondering if I had broken my arm.  Then I instantly remembered how happy I had been, jumping and squealing in Jill’s office, just hours earlier when my appraisal on our house plans had come in.  Laying on my back in the stairwell, looking up alternately at the ceiling and Mickey, I vowed that despite my present condition this was STILL a good day.

There is so much more to this story than I can type with one hand: the chance circumstance that made Dom show up at my office just moments after my fall, Jill making me go to the hospital, the doctor sweetly telling me that she believes I broke my elbow, and then her personally escorting me to an orthopedic consult and explaining when we remarked on the exceptional level of service, “I saw that you work for the Diocese.  I figured that was the Holy Spirit telling me to take care of you.”

To me, that sounded like an answer to every prayer I could pray:  Don’t worry…I got this!

He’s had my back a lot lately.

I recently began a morning prayer exercise – the Rosary, to be specific – to offer all my intentions (“prayer requests”) and those of my family and friends.  I have two apps that I use during this time: a rosary app and a prayer list app so I can keep up with everything.  So, yes, I’m fiddling with my phone while I’m praying.  This morning my phone rang at 6:35 during the fourth decade of the Glorious Mysteries.  I growled a little at the interruption, saw that it was my son trying to FaceTime me from his iPod, and rationalized that I could take a tiny break and answer it.  I was behind closed doors, after all, to block out the morning noise.  And they all knew I was praying.  What gives??

The camera showed Aaron standing in the kitchen downstairs.  He was helpfully doling out everyone’s multi-vitamins.  “Hey, Mom.  Sorry to interrupt you.  Do you still need to take some Advil for your arm? I’ll set it out for you if so.”

Omigosh.

I shared this story with Mickey, who teared up and informed me that that was a hug from Mary.

I see the signs, but I am only human, so time and time again the message has to be reinforced for me.

He’s got this.

Blog Spawn

Watch out, folks…I have spawned two more bloggers!!

Given the fact that I have five blogs, it should come as no surprise that my children wanted their turn.  After all, they have watched me spill all the random happenings of our lives in two of my blogs for the last couple of years.  They are old enough now that 1) they need to hone their writing skills, and 2) they should have as much right to share their thoughts and experiences as I do.  And so their internet real estate has been established (in the free sub-domain kind of way) and they are both on Blogger.  Their site names cracked me up!!  No doubt you can tell who is who:

http://ThePancakeLord.blogspot.com

http://LittleGracieLooWho.blogspot.com

And, of course, we have rules.  I talked ad nauseum about the things we DO NOT do on our blogs.  (No teachers’ names, no friends’ last names, no school names, no city names, no rudeness, no criticizing of people, no hateful words.)  In short, don’t put anything on the internet that you don’t want to say straight to someone’s face…with their mamma and me standing right beside them.  That pretty much sums up the rules.

I think they are excited about having their own chance to journal in the same way that I do, and I can’t wait to see what all they write about.  (Without having read it yet, I know Vic’s first post is about food, and maybe some of the changes we are making.)

Now I gotta go get busy.  First on the list is becoming an official follower of each of their blogs.  Then I gotta rethink my own site design to accommodate the newbies.

May this venture bear worthy fruit.  🙂

Time Stamps

I knew this was going to be a tough morning.  After the morning I had yesterday and the realization that I was anxious about today, I knew it would be a rough ride to school.

To middle school.

Aaron, our first-born, walked into 6^th Grade today alongside about 1,000 other kids.  No lie.  He handled the experience with extreme class and calm.

I, however, did not.

You knew I wouldn’t.

—

I took his picture this morning in order to text my mom with his “look” for today so that she can spot him in afternoon carpool.  Her reply text caught me off-guard, as she commented how grown-up he looked, and how proud she is.  Then she quoted Aaron’s baby phrase and wrote, “’But I crying’ tears of joy.”

Let me just say that This. Completely. Did. Me. In.

Thanks, Mom.  😉

So there I was, at a red light just a block off the interstate stifling sobs over what little I read of the pop-up on my phone, and we still had several blocks to go.  I tried to calm my voice and casually comment that I hoped Aaron had a great day at school.

“I will.”

“Oh, I know you will, sweetie.  Just know that I will be [sniff] thinking of [sniff, sniff] you [sniff] all day [sniff, sniff].

“I know.”

He knows so much.  But does he know that when I think of him, I still see this?

And this…

And this…

Those are my timestamps.  My mental slide-show of his life so far.   My slideshow that now includes this…

As we caravanned into the carpool drop-off line at the school, I shoved eight bucks at him “just in case” and told him that I love him.  He said he loved me too.  All I could see as he opened the door was the back of his little head over that huge backpack, stuffed to the gills with 2” binders in assorted colors.  I asked if he had his lunchbox.

“Yes.  Bye.”  And with that, he disappeared into a swarming sea of middle school children.  No longer could I see my baby boy walk into the school building and know that he was safe.  I couldn’t even see his head bobbing through the crowd.  Just a steadily-changing stream of  kids I’d never seen before.

I pulled through the rest of the carpool line, made the turn and cried like a baby.  And this played in my head:

A co-worker who saw her youngest of six ride off to high school today profoundly stated that it’s not the firsts that do her in anymore.  It’s the lasts.

I cannot even go there yet.

Too Fast

Last night as Dom and I carried on a discussion in the den, we heard Aaron rummaging around in the kitchen. “He’s getting a bowl,” Dom explained to me.

I craned to look into the kitchen, worried that Aaron would need help reaching the bowls. You never know when SuperMom is going to have to reach the unreachable for her little babies.  I wondered out loud if he would need our assistance.

As I looked into the kitchen, aiming my gaze right above the countertop, Aaron emerged into view, his chest towering over the countertop where I expected to see his face. And then it hit me. He’s getting taller. He will be in Middle School in a few short months. My baby boy is growing up. I vividly recall when the top of his head just baaaaaarely reached the countertop, and we cheered and danced because he was getting “soooooooo big!”

I wasn’t cheering last night, though. As soon as the memory of my baby boy in his overalls, turtleneck onesie and Timberland boots tiptoed through my head, the tears spilled out of my eyes. My conversation came to a screeching halt, and Dom looked at me with mild curiosity.

“Are…are you crying?”

[sniffling] “Mmmmm-hmmmmm…”

“Over him getting taller?”

“Yes! I can remember when…” and I just stopped right there, unable to finish the sentence.

“Yeah…I know,” came the understanding reply from my better half.

We sat for just a moment in silence, then we both sucked it up and continued the previous conversation, forcing us to put aside our marvel and wonder and temporary melancholy in favor of something that does not remind us of how quickly time passes.  This life – this Grow-A-Kid carnival ride – is going too fast. Slow it down, please. SuperMom is a SuperWimp.

Somebody get the woman some Kleenex.

God Bless Us, Indeed!

This is an oldie but goodie.  Aaron singing God Bless America at age 3.

“Mommy, I like you!”

We were on the way to school this morning, and I don’t even recall what we were discussing, but at the end of my soapbox/explanation/whatever-it-was, Aaron made that beautiful announcement that means so much to me right now. 

“Mommy, I like you!” 

It’s important to like people, you see.  It is important to love them, yes, but because we are supposed to love our families…it’s not really a choice. 

But liking someone…that’s a choice!  That’s a vote of confidence above and beyond a vote of acceptance.  That’s an in-your-face bouquet of spring flowers on a sunny day.  And you know what? 

I like that kid right back!!!