Twenty years this summer.

It's been twenty years since I've worn braces.

How do I remember such a weird milestone? Because I graduated high school wearing those same braces.  My parents wouldn't let me get them taken off before my senior pictures like the lucky girl's parents did.

I was so jealous that the lucky girl got hers taken off just in time for pictures and I still had a year to go.

I'm still bitter about it.

(But I looked like that back then and could have used all the help I could get.)

(I probably should have invested more time in worrying about my hair and less about my braces.)

(Clear braces turn yellow.  Did anyone know that?  Well, they do.  Bright yellow.)

(If only I had a time machine.)

It's so funny what you remember about a time period in which you would love to forget. 

I remember being intimidated by the popular crowd and the "jocks".

I remember thinking that one critical mistake would be the legacy by which people would define me.

I remember agonizing over a pimple (and those darn braces) thinking my life was ruined forever.

I remember wearing Skip's letterman's jacket and feeling like I didn't deserve it.

I remember teachers that liked me and teachers that didn't.

I remember being more concerned about my after school activities than my school work.

I remember the smell of the halls and the sound of Mrs. L's clickety tall boots.

I remember feeling inspired by a science teacher and humiliated by a math one.

I remember wishing I had better clothes and better hair and better shoes.

*somethingsneverchange*


I remember carrying around my insecurities like a giant backpack.

I remember sitting on those bleachers waiting for them to call my name so my grown up life could begin.

A twenty year reunion seems ridiculous when you are 18.  The world is ahead of you and you are invincible.  Anything is possible.  Everything is attainable.   The gap between what you know and what you THINK you know is huge.

Eighteen is a cocky age.

Thirty eight, not so much.  You (hopefully) have ripened and softened and been seasoned by life.  You (hopefully) have become the person you wish you could have been in high school.  Confident, wise, stable, proven.

Improved.

Twenty years is the perfect amount of time for a reunion.  Not that I wasn't a nervous wreck when the planning committee started to send out facebook plans.  I was a MESS trying to get ready for the reunion.  I struggled with my weight and my clothes and my hair just like I did 20 years ago.

But I knew something that I didn't back then.

I knew I was SAFE.  No matter what I blurted out of my mouth, or if my shoes weren't exactly right, or even if I woke up with a zit the size of Texas. 

I was safe.  I knew that life would go on even if these people didn't like me anymore.  It wouldn't change my life to be rejected or snubbed.  My high school self was going to be OK no matter what!

And I am so glad that I realized that.  It was such a fun weekend.  It was great to see old friends and find out where life has taken them since high school.  Everyone was so sweet and genuinely interested in one another.  Such a relief to know that none of that high school stuff mattered anymore.

Here's to the next 20 years.

May we all continue to improve!


And about those braces, SOOOOO thankful!  Even if my 18 year-old self was mentally scarred.  She'll get over it.

His favorite gift.

With ten comes great responsibility.

I am not going to lie people.  This is TOUGHER THAN TOUGH.  He has a very strong lid reflex that fights against keeping it open and touching the eye.  That will die away in time.  Each day will get better.  His confidence will grow and the time will shorten.

But he is so proud. 

Me?

I want to shove him back in the womb and pretend ten years haven't gone by in the blink of an eye.

*sigh*

I'm takin' this with me if we move.

Well, I am doing what I said I would yesterday.  I have chained myself to the house and I am taking it back. It is going so SLLLOOOOWWWLLLLYYY. I have been in the laundry room most of the day and I wanted to show you my very favorite thing in this house.

I have a friend who is a muralist. When I was pregnant with Langley, I hired her to paint this growth chart in the laundry room.  This ain't your ordinary growth chart. It's a work of art and my absolute favorite thing.

Forgive the terrible pictures.  There seems to be a horrible glare from the dryer and I didn't have much room to work with.  All around the room were huge piles of laundry and junk.  I refuse to show you that. 

Which is funny because I have pretty much bared my soul here on this blog.  But I feel a need to keep the mess in my laundry room a deep dark secret.

Mess in my life open for sharing?  Yes.

Disorganized chaos in the laundry room?  No.

I have to draw the line somewhere, people.

Anyway, back to the growth chart.  Every birthday, and happy-half birthday, my kids get measured.  They look forward to it as much as I do on their special days.  I treasure the way their not-so-tiny bodies (*sigh*) stand against the wall stick straight and how they delight in how much they have grown in six months.

The verse above the growth chart says...

"The child continued to grow and become strong increasing in wisdom; and the grace of God was upon Him."  Luke 2:40

Rest assured, IF we ever move this wall is coming with me.

 
And if it can't, then we won't ever be able to move.

So there you have it. 

Passion.

First of all...WOW! You, my friends, are amazing women! So encouraging, honest and kind. It's a funny thing, honesty. You live your life, you do your thing, you think you are alone but after a little raw-ness you realize that YOU WERE NEVER ALONE. NOT EVEN CLOSE!

You blessed me. Thank you.

Second of all, if you are my pastor you are about to get a second shout-out today. But I feel pretty safe knowing that my pastor doesn't waste his precious time reading the wandering thoughts of a snot-covered mommy with elastic pants. Pretty sure he has a million and one OTHER THINGS to do.

(But, Joe, if you are reading...I think you are just great!)

Along with teaching about JOY, he has spent time encouraging and challenging each of us to find our PASSION in life. Over the course of a few months people have began to share their passion. Which, of course, triggers a deep sense of insecurity in me because I lack a passion.

Maybe it's not lacking in me...maybe it's just the word "PASSION." It's a BIG, SCARY word for someone who can't easily identify theirs. It conjures up guilt in me, selfishness even. My heart wants a passion, but my brain says, "how selfish to think about anything other than your family."



Of course, there is nothing more important to me than my husband and kids. But is that all I am? Isn't there something in me that is JUST MINE? Something that makes my face light up and my wheels turn?

Oh, here comes the guilt voice again.

"Your children, your husband and your home should be all those things."

God is funny about taking something and making a THEME of it. Since this passion series came up at church I have been in more conversations with people where I can easily identify theirs.

**A grandmother who devotes her time to learning how to take wonderful pictures.

**Lady at church has a passion for helping Hispanic women clothe and feed their children.

**Many families whose heart belongs on another continent waiting for adoption.

**Young woman who gave up an entire year of her single-ness to join a missionary race around the globe.

**Young man has a heart for traveling to Jerusalem and taking his baby sister.

**Mom who started designing clothes for her daughters and now has a booming business.

**Friend so committed to seeing others get healthy that she started a Boot Camp in her area.

I could go on and on, but the thing is a whole lot of people have a PASSION for something bigger than themselves. And in all of these cases I believe they are God-given.

So, that leads me to wonder about myself.

Heaven help me, here is my list of what I could be "passionate" about...

**sarcasm
**coffee
**napping
**watching every episode of Friends

But something bigger?

I just don't see it...

I hope to find it, and with it the WOMAN that God designed without a trace of insecurity, guilt or shame!

What about you? What is your PASSION? What makes your wheels turn?

My heart hurts just a little.

This day has been coming since I was in 1st grade holding my first pair of Pink Panther glasses. The sweet doctor in the picture is the same man that 30 years ago gave me the "good news" about my vision. Thankfully, Z-Man's vision is not as bad as mine when I was his age. I have a severe astigmatism and he does not. Yet.

We noticed Z's vision problems at his 7 year checkup with the pediatrician. He couldn't read the last two lines on the chart. That was in April and we put it off as long as possible. Since school started we have really noticed a discrepancy. In class, he walks right up to the board and reads a few words then goes to his desk to copy them down. Repeat until finished. Chapter books were becoming harder for him because the print is smaller and close together.

It was time

His first words..."WOW!! I thought I was seeing normal." Right after we left the doctor, he wanted to run back to school to show his teacher and look at his classroom. Mrs. B was so excited for him and I have never seen him so proud. All night long he was looking at things with glasses and without. He was in awe. Another bonus, he actually wanted to read. Let that soak in. He wanted to read. Everything.

Worth it to me.

My sweet boy, I am so proud of you. Now quit growing and changing so fast. My head is spinning and my heart is bursting. I pray that no one hurts your feelings. Trust me on this, there are people that will call you names. Four eyes for example. Stay strong, son, and know that you are loved.

Oh no, she didn't!

Before you proceed with the rest of this post, please read this to catch up. My story will be regarding the same girl.

Don't worry. I will wait for you to come back......

OK...now that you are up to speed, let's rewind a couple of weeks.

I was mostly dressed. I had the appropriate undergarments, jeans and a cami. Z walked in and said, "Mom, you look hot!"

WHAT??!!

I look hot? From a six year old? What is going on here and where did he learn that? Skip and I talked and decided we would lay low with it. If it was something that he learned, it would repeat itself.

Sure enough, it did. Yesterday in the car with Spice from the Spice Rack, Z asked if he knew what hot was. "Yeah, it's like when you sweat and stuff." (Good answer, Spice.) Z told him that was not the "hot" he was referring to. He whispered the meaning of the new word in Spice's ear.

It was now time for action.

"Z, where did you learn that?"

"School. From Bri."

"What else is Bri teaching you at school?"

"About L-O-V-E and K-I-S-S-I-N-G."

Skip and I exchange looks. This isn't good. I know what kind of knowledge this little girl has considering what she taught him last year. I don't have a good feeling about this. I'm no fool, I taught school long enough to hear what kids are talking about. Mostly they have it all wrong, but still they are talking. This is something we all have to face with our little ones, and it is scary.

Later in the day when we had time to ourselves with Z we questioned him more. We found out that this girl has been showing them how to kiss by using books or her hand. I am guessing this isn't the innocent kiss you would give your grandpa either. Boy does my blood boil just thinking about what this girl must know and WHY she knows it. Her loss of innocence saddens me deeply. I hurt for her.

We explained to Z that we want to be the ones to teach him about love based on what God teaches us. We told him that he is not old enough to be talking about that yet, but that he can always come to us with questions. We promised him that we would be truthful with him if he will promise to be truthful with us. We gave him some strategies to avoid talking with this particular girl about such grown up things.

I am left feeling uneasy and angry. This world is cruel and fast and ugly. We are good parents who try to protect our kids from such things. But the world finds it's way in and infiltrates it's message. This poor girl has lost her childhood to grown up things. I don't feel one nice thing about her teaching my son her knowledge. But is it her fault? If it wasn't her, it would have been someone else.

There is always someone else.

"Father, please protect our children from the cruelties of this world. Please guard their hearts and minds to things they don't need knowledge of. Help them turn a blind eye and deaf ear on things that could hurt them. Protect them, Lord, from the evil one who seeks to steal, kill and destroy their innocence. Give us as parents the wisdom to teach our children Your ways and Your truth. Help us guide them down the path You have chosen for them."

One More Thing...

Today was Preschool Open House for L. She was so excited to finally be big and go to school...even if it was just for an hour and I never left her. She changed clothes 3 times before deciding on her ladybug outfit. I could tell she had butterflies in her tummy.

It seems like just yesterday that we were taking Z for this special day. Time sure flies! After "school" we ate lunch with Tessa. They giggled and played. It will be so fun to have Will and Tessa in the same class! I see lots of free time for us mommies, too!

OK...now I am walking away! I promise.