Twelve Days

How is it possible that CJ and Janel are getting married in twelve days? Wasn’t it yesterday that they told me they were having a baby? Wasn’t it yesterday that Janel asked me if she was engaged, and then CJ proposed to her?

My boys have their little suits that they will wear at the wedding, the suits that match CJ’s suit exactly. On their feet they will wear black converse hightops and everyone will say how absolutely adorable they are, and sweet.

Twelve days from now I will watch CJ and Janel say their vows to one another and I will cry. My tears will be of joy and pride, and I will do my best to remember that their mothers are there, and that I am not their mother. But in my heart I know I will feel as much love and pride and happiness for them as if I were.

I’ll cry when they have their first dance as husband and wife, and I will remember the fun we had as they listened to songs and picked out their music. I’ll cry when Janel dances with her father, and CJ dances with his mother, knowing how much each of their parents did for them for this wedding, and I’ll cry when Janel dances with her grandfather and CJ dances with his grandmother and remember how important that was and is to them.

These days Doug and I are very happy, and very close. It has been fun for us to watch and help them plan this wedding day, and remember our own. We had so much fun, Doug and I. That day, that week, that month, that year are some of my best memories and I cherish them. I’m sure I will cherish the memories of these days as well.

Thunderstorms.

We’re having a thunderstorm tonight, they’re rare in Southern California. Beckett was asleep when it started, and he stayed that way. My kids both are Olympic-class sleepers.

Frank wasn’t asleep yet and came running into our bedroom where Doug and I were laying down, talking about our day—and him. He was frightened as he often is by new or different things. He said he was scared and wanted to cuddle with us. We turned off the light, opened the blind to the big window in the bedroom and all waited for the next flash of lightning. It came, and then we all counted the seconds until the sound of thunder. It was five seconds. And then we waited for the next, and counted, and the next, and counted. The waiting and counting took Frank’s mind off his fear. Although when he counted twelve seconds between lightning and thunder he said he was so relieved that it was moving further away. And then he asked me what relieved meant.

I explained that relieved was how I felt this morning after forty-five minutes of increasing worry when I couldn’t find my wedding ring, and then did—under Beckett’s crib. I forget that I have to watch Beckett in ways I never did with Frank.

Frank understood relieved, and was probably more so knowing he had used the word correctly.

I hugged him and kissed his forehead, rolled over to find a position where my ribs didn’t ache. I found one and drifted off to sleep. I woke up to see Doug carrying Frank, sound asleep too, off to bed.

I thank God for the comfort of my family, for myself and for Frank. My childhood was mixed. There were times of great comfort and there were times when as a frightened child I had no one interested in providing any comfort to me. I vowed things would be different for my children and they are.

I feel good about the way Doug and I parent our children. I am proud that Frank is secure enough to act the way he does sometimes, and it isn’t necessarily behavior I approve of. What makes me proud and gives me comfort, is that Frank knows that no matter how silly or crazy or naughty or even how far he crosses the line of inappropriate behavior, he knows that Doug and I still love him. He looks at me, right into my eyes, studies my reaction, waits for my response. There are times I give him a little frown, he takes a quick breath and then I wink. His face breaks into a huge smile and he says, “Sorry Mama,” and continues to grin. He knows whatever he did, he probably shouldn’t have. But he also knows that I love him anyway.

I thank God for that—for giving me my children to love.

Back to School

Tomorrow is Frank’s first day in first grade. I’ve had many telephone conversations with friends who are soooo anxious for their kids to go back to school. I am not among them. I am filled with regret about all we didn’t do this summer. I didn’t schedule my time wisely, I spent too much time working and not enough time playing, days went by too quickly and so did weeks. My children are growing up too fast and I’m not spending enough time playing with them.

Frank somehow didn’t get placed on a soccer team. I’m looking at this as an omen. He is meant to be a tennis player, not a soccer player. After school we’ll do one day of tennis lessons and one day of swim lessons instead of two days of soccer practice. Saturdays will be spent playing as a family rather than watching him play soccer.

Broken Promises

I don't understand how people can make "promises" and break them, especially with children. As a parent, it is so hard to explain to a child that although a person loves them and didn't mean to disappoint them, they were unable to keep their promise. No matter how insignificant it may seem in the life of an adult, a promise is not insignificant to a six-year-old, or to the parent who has to dry tears and find a way to make sure the six-year-old still loves, admires and trusts the promise-breaker. Ugh.

I think the words, "I promise," are simply thrown around far too irresponsibly. The solution is so simple, DON'T PROMISE! Whenever Frank asks about something I say that we'll try, or we'll think about it, or talk about it, or do our best, or something, but I don't promise unless it's worthy of those words, and then it has to be something I can almost guarantee will happen barring unforeseen emergencies, like falling off a ladder (although I don't think I promised him anything that day and if I did, I'm sure he forgave me for breaking the promise.)

I've heard Frank say to Doug, "Do you promise?" and Doug says, "No Frank, I don't promise, but I will do my best to . . . " And then Doug does his best to make whatever it is happen.

Okay, so here's another thing. Doug went to Nascar on Sunday. Janel babysat me (and Frank and Beck and CJ's little sister, Madison), and then CJ came over later. We had hot dogs for dinner. As I was preparing my hot dog, I realized how much I count on Doug. Terrible that it was cooking that made me think of it, but regardless, I thought of it. There is so much that Doug does here, so many ways that we are a team. There are the things he always does, and then there are the things I always do. I know I can count on him to do his stuff, and vice versa. It's nice. We're a team, and a family, we have a partnership. He's dependable and steadfast. Probably something I don't acknowledge or thank him for, but definitely should.

Comin' Around Again

I'm starting to feel like myself again. I would say, "finally," instinctively, but honestly I don't feel that way. I'm surprised I feel this good already. I'm doing everything I usually do, only less of it, with the exception of picking up Beckett, which is breaking my heart, and driving, which I'm getting ready to think about doing. I tried getting in the car and turning the wheel the other day, but it hurt so I thought it might be better to wait another few days to try again.

I cannot believe it's time for Frank to go back to school already. Wednesday he starts back. I'm excited about his year this year. He's in a combined class, and he will have Mrs. Kelley as his main teacher, and Mrs. Deloye as her aide. Mrs. Kelley was his kindergarten teacher last year, and Mrs. Deloye is a retired kindergarten teacher. Mrs. Kelley handpicked the kids in the class so he will be with his buddies Andie, Carley and Josh. Mrs. Kelley has taught many different grade levels and is more than well-equipped for the task she is about to undertake. The best part is the ratio of his class to teachers is 9:1. What more could a parent ask for?

Doug is going to Nascar today with John Piovesan, I'm very glad he's taking some time for himself, he never does that.