On December 4, 1997, the Erichsen-Webster Family had its first teenager. I had heard many scary stories about parenting teens, so when Luke turned 13 on that day back in 1997, I was slightly anxious. Teenagers have a generally bad reputation. I had heard them compared to tantruming toddlers. I had heard them compared to hormonal, menopausal women. I had even heard them compared to bipolar personality disordered folks. Sheesh! Really? I had also heard it was worse with girls, so a year and a half later on April 30, 1999 when Shulamith turned 13, I was really frightened. What was in store for us? Would these beautiful, perfect children turn into people we didn't recognize?
I am pleased to report none of that turned out to be true, at least not for us. Luke and Shulamith were delightful teenagers in every way. They only became more fun as they grew, right through the teen years. So on April 15, 2004 and on March 13, 2006 when Isaiah and Eli, respectively, became teenagers, I wasn't even worried. I knew they would be just fine. And they were.
Eli turned 20 today. It is the first time in 16 years that we don't have a teenager. Thank heavens it won't last long. I would be so sad. Fortunately, this "sans teen" situation will be only three months. On June 14th, Seth will turn 13. We are super excited for all the new experiences his teen years will bring. He is such a great kid; I know he will be an awesome teenager.
As for the bad rap teens get, I really don't understand. I'm sure some teenagers are challenging for their parents; I don't doubt that. But like any other stereotype, there are far too many exceptions to lump them altogether and label them unfavorably. I have to say that I have loved being a mom to teens. I have thoroughly enjoyed them, their friends, and their lives.
Happy birthday to Eli. As you bid farewell to the teen years, may you go forth into adulthood with all the joy you deserve. And Seth...the amazing teen years lie just before you. The fun is only beginning.
Wednesday, March 13, 2013
Saturday, March 9, 2013
Just Say "Ga"
Swen is an expert using the word. Yes, he occasionally babbles a few other syllables here or there: "ba, da, ma." But 99% of the time, he is fully able to meet all his communication needs using only this one, amazing word. Just say "Ga." So here is some excellent advice, based on personal experience, from a nine-month-old named Swen Webster-Monson.
When you are super excited because you are in the bath tub and you have just discovered you can stand up in there, smile big and just say "Ga!"
When you are seriously frustrated because you so desperately want to chew on an electrical cord, but no one will let you do that, make a very angry face and just say "Ga!"
When you are mesmerized by a new object that you have never seen before, hold it in your hand, twirl it around in front of your eyes, and with the sigh of appreciation for all things new and wonderful in the world, just say "Ga."
When someone has just put something new and yucky in your mouth (because for the most part you would really prefer just to breastfeed rather than eat gross food), make a terribly sad face, spit out the food, and with utter disgust, just say "Ga."
When you don't want to go to sleep, though you are so tired, and someone is carrying you around singing "Ba, ba, ba means I love you," and try though you may, you can't fight it one second longer, lay your head down on her shoulder, and with a whisper of resignation, just say "Ga."
When you have your very first fever, and you don't feel good at all, and you don't understand why, and you wish someone would fix it, and life basically sucks, using your whiniest voice, just say "Ga."
When you first wake from a nap, calm and rested, and you are so happy and filled with pure love for whomever is holding you close, look up into his or her eyes, and just say "Ga."
Yep, I'm pretty sure Swen has figured out something great here. Next time I'm feeling excited, frustrated, mesmerized, disgusted, exhausted, sick, or totally at peace, I'm not going to waste time dreaming up eloquent rhetoric to express myself. Absolutely not.
I will just say "Ga."
Tuesday, March 5, 2013
One Year More
March. The promise of spring. The unvoiced hope that a relentless winter will not be forever. Some glorious rain instead of snow. A bit of sweet sunshine mixed in. Longer days. And one year more.
One year more.
Indeed, March marks the halfway point in Eli's two-year mission. Now I know some of you are saying to yourselves, "What? Really? He's been out a whole year? It feels like he just left." And I believe you. As I've said before, other people's kids' missions go by fast. Our own kids, not as much. I miss him. Very little defines the word "bittersweet" quite as well as sending one's kid off on a mission. I miss him lots. I cry sometimes because I miss him so, yet I wouldn't have him anywhere else. I'm so proud of him, so very proud. One year more.
One year more of waiting anxiously on Monday for those amazing p-day emails. Mine usually comes in the morning, around 10:00. I teach on Mondays at 11:00, so many times it comes just as I'm getting ready to go. I stop. Regardless of where I am in the process of dressing, applying make-up, styling hair, or gathering my stuff, I stop right where I am and read my email. Sometimes it comes while I'm in transit. This is not good. I hear the sound, informing me that an email has arrived, and I know EXACTLY who it's from, but I can't read it on the freeway. I can't risk having an accident, so I have to just keep on driving, knowing my email is right there on my phone. It's torture! When I finally arrive at school, I quickly find a place to park, and then sit right there in the parking lot and read my letter. Occasionally, it doesn't arrive until after I'm in my classroom. Since I teach at LDS Business College, all my students are well familiar with my situation. Many are returned missionaries themselves; others are preparing to go. They wait patiently for me to read my missionary's letter. One year more.
One year more of making sure I get a snail mail note sent off each week. I need to have it in the mail by Tuesday at 4:00, in order to be certain Eli receives it by Friday. For some reason (keep in mind I'm pretty OCD about some things), I've decided he needs to have the letter by Friday. I write it either Monday night or Tuesday morning, but then come the complications of getting it printed out, into an envelope, and off to Arkansas (or Tennessee, currently). Our printer seems never to have ink when I need it. Then I can't find a memory stick, so I'm stuck hauling my overly-large sized laptop to Office Depot. Almost always, Shulamith and Swen are with me, and often Swen is not at his happiest by the time we're doing all this, so Shulamith circles the parking lot while I run inside to print the letter. Then we need a mailbox. We know where most of those are by now, but for some reason, they are never in convenient places on Tuesdays in the late afternoon when I'm desperately trying to get my letter mailed by 4:00. Ask Shulamith how much she loves this part of our week. Wait...no...don't even ask. One year more.
One year more of our nightly prayers for our missionary. Yes, Seth and I pray for each member of our family, by name, every night. Still, there's something unique about how earnestly and anxiously we pray for Eli in the mission field. May he be safe. May he be strong. May he stay warm and dry. May he have the Spirit by his side constantly. May he never give in to discouragement, which will no doubt hover around him at times as he treks forward, step after step, door after door. May he be guided to those individuals who are seeking after truth. May he serve and love as the Savior did. Oh there is so much to pray for when you have a missionary. One year more.
One year more of his absence on holidays. Christmas and Mother's Day are the hardest, but also the best, because we get to Skype. With Luke in 2006-2008, it was only a phone call. One year more of putting together packages of various treats and surprises and then paying more for shipping than we did for the contents of the box but not caring in the least. For Valentine's Day last month, we sent granola, rice crispy treats, and caramel corn. Eli was sure the granola must have been made by Mathew's mom; certainly Shulamith and I couldn't have made anything that yummy, but we were pleased to inform him that we did, indeed, make it ourselves. One year more.
One year more of the blessings of having a missionary serving. One year more of hearing the incredible stories of mission miracles. One year more of seeing pictures of newly baptized members, their faces glowing with the joy that only the Gospel brings. Eli has participated in eight convert baptisms so far, six in Blytheville and two in Memphis, and has been privileged to perform four of those baptisms himself. Would you like to see some of those pictures?
March. The promise of spring. The unvoiced hope that a relentless winter will not be forever. A bit of glorious rain instead of snow. A bit of sweet sunshine mixed in. Longer days. And one year more.
One year more.
Indeed, March marks the halfway point in Eli's two-year mission. Now I know some of you are saying to yourselves, "What? Really? He's been out a whole year? It feels like he just left." And I believe you. As I've said before, other people's kids' missions go by fast. Our own kids, not as much. I miss him. Very little defines the word "bittersweet" quite as well as sending one's kid off on a mission. I miss him lots. I cry sometimes because I miss him so, yet I wouldn't have him anywhere else. I'm so proud of him, so very proud. One year more.
One year more of waiting anxiously on Monday for those amazing p-day emails. Mine usually comes in the morning, around 10:00. I teach on Mondays at 11:00, so many times it comes just as I'm getting ready to go. I stop. Regardless of where I am in the process of dressing, applying make-up, styling hair, or gathering my stuff, I stop right where I am and read my email. Sometimes it comes while I'm in transit. This is not good. I hear the sound, informing me that an email has arrived, and I know EXACTLY who it's from, but I can't read it on the freeway. I can't risk having an accident, so I have to just keep on driving, knowing my email is right there on my phone. It's torture! When I finally arrive at school, I quickly find a place to park, and then sit right there in the parking lot and read my letter. Occasionally, it doesn't arrive until after I'm in my classroom. Since I teach at LDS Business College, all my students are well familiar with my situation. Many are returned missionaries themselves; others are preparing to go. They wait patiently for me to read my missionary's letter. One year more.
One year more of making sure I get a snail mail note sent off each week. I need to have it in the mail by Tuesday at 4:00, in order to be certain Eli receives it by Friday. For some reason (keep in mind I'm pretty OCD about some things), I've decided he needs to have the letter by Friday. I write it either Monday night or Tuesday morning, but then come the complications of getting it printed out, into an envelope, and off to Arkansas (or Tennessee, currently). Our printer seems never to have ink when I need it. Then I can't find a memory stick, so I'm stuck hauling my overly-large sized laptop to Office Depot. Almost always, Shulamith and Swen are with me, and often Swen is not at his happiest by the time we're doing all this, so Shulamith circles the parking lot while I run inside to print the letter. Then we need a mailbox. We know where most of those are by now, but for some reason, they are never in convenient places on Tuesdays in the late afternoon when I'm desperately trying to get my letter mailed by 4:00. Ask Shulamith how much she loves this part of our week. Wait...no...don't even ask. One year more.
One year more of our nightly prayers for our missionary. Yes, Seth and I pray for each member of our family, by name, every night. Still, there's something unique about how earnestly and anxiously we pray for Eli in the mission field. May he be safe. May he be strong. May he stay warm and dry. May he have the Spirit by his side constantly. May he never give in to discouragement, which will no doubt hover around him at times as he treks forward, step after step, door after door. May he be guided to those individuals who are seeking after truth. May he serve and love as the Savior did. Oh there is so much to pray for when you have a missionary. One year more.
One year more of his absence on holidays. Christmas and Mother's Day are the hardest, but also the best, because we get to Skype. With Luke in 2006-2008, it was only a phone call. One year more of putting together packages of various treats and surprises and then paying more for shipping than we did for the contents of the box but not caring in the least. For Valentine's Day last month, we sent granola, rice crispy treats, and caramel corn. Eli was sure the granola must have been made by Mathew's mom; certainly Shulamith and I couldn't have made anything that yummy, but we were pleased to inform him that we did, indeed, make it ourselves. One year more.
One year more of the blessings of having a missionary serving. One year more of hearing the incredible stories of mission miracles. One year more of seeing pictures of newly baptized members, their faces glowing with the joy that only the Gospel brings. Eli has participated in eight convert baptisms so far, six in Blytheville and two in Memphis, and has been privileged to perform four of those baptisms himself. Would you like to see some of those pictures?
March. The promise of spring. The unvoiced hope that a relentless winter will not be forever. A bit of glorious rain instead of snow. A bit of sweet sunshine mixed in. Longer days. And one year more.
Wednesday, February 27, 2013
A Fairy Tale
Once upon a time, a couple lived in the daylight basement apartment of the wife's parents' home. It was a lovely arrangement in every way. The husband was a full time student and also worked hard at a restaurant, so his life was extremely busy. One day, his wife was feeding their 9-month-old baby, preparing to go "mall walking" with her mom because the February snow prevented them from walking outside. The husband, who had lots of homework, said, "I'm going to wait to do my homework until you and Baby leave, so it will be quiet and I won't be distracted." The wife thought this was an excellent idea.
When it came time for her to leave, the wife said, "Okay, we're leaving. You're going to do your homework, right?"
"Right!" said the husband.
Her mom, upstairs also preparing to leave, questioned her 12-year-old son (the wife's little brother): "You're going to practice the piano while I'm gone, right?"
"Right!" said the son.
As the wife, her baby, and her mom loaded into the car, the wife remembered that she left her phone in the house. "I'd better go get it," she said, "just in case my husband needs me for something."
She ran back into the house and quickly went downstairs to find her phone. "I'm just here getting my phone," she explained, thinking her husband would be there studying. He wasn't. "Is he in the bathroom?" she wondered. Nope. Not there either. Hmmm.
Baffled, she headed back upstairs, where she found her little brother lying on the couch, attempting to act all nonchalant but not really succeeding and certainly not practicing the piano. Still confused, she looked around. It took a beat or two, but finally saw it---a still, human form hidden under a blanket in the rocking chair, covered head to toe.
"Really?" she said. "Really???"
Busted, the husband poked his head out from under the blanket with a sheepish smile.
And the husband, along with the little brother, lived happily ever after playing video-games and avoiding homework and the piano.
When it came time for her to leave, the wife said, "Okay, we're leaving. You're going to do your homework, right?"
"Right!" said the husband.
Her mom, upstairs also preparing to leave, questioned her 12-year-old son (the wife's little brother): "You're going to practice the piano while I'm gone, right?"
"Right!" said the son.
As the wife, her baby, and her mom loaded into the car, the wife remembered that she left her phone in the house. "I'd better go get it," she said, "just in case my husband needs me for something."
She ran back into the house and quickly went downstairs to find her phone. "I'm just here getting my phone," she explained, thinking her husband would be there studying. He wasn't. "Is he in the bathroom?" she wondered. Nope. Not there either. Hmmm.
Baffled, she headed back upstairs, where she found her little brother lying on the couch, attempting to act all nonchalant but not really succeeding and certainly not practicing the piano. Still confused, she looked around. It took a beat or two, but finally saw it---a still, human form hidden under a blanket in the rocking chair, covered head to toe.
"Really?" she said. "Really???"
Busted, the husband poked his head out from under the blanket with a sheepish smile.
And the husband, along with the little brother, lived happily ever after playing video-games and avoiding homework and the piano.
Wednesday, February 20, 2013
Montana Memories
This evening, as I was unloading the dishwasher, I picked up a tall red mug with white circles. On the bottom of the mug, in black, were four numbers: "2007." I cradled the mug in my hands for just a second.
Montana memories.
When we left Billings 18 months ago, we left many friends behind, but with us we took endless memories. We never intended to stay there indefinitely; always, we knew one day we would leave, move on, continue our lives in a different and (hopefully) larger city. Always we knew this. So it wasn't sad when we left; it was the opposite really. It was exactly what we wanted. My heart was in Utah long before we actually moved here, like a good two years before. Moreover, it took a good two years of plotting and planning to make a relocation of this magnitude a reality. After a year and a half here in the Salt Lake Valley, I'm certain it was the right decision. We are happy here. Very.
Still, there are times, like this past week, when the memories of Montana are right close. The red mug was an enrichment project from way back in 2007, when I served as president of the Metra Ward Relief Society. Celeste would come up with these ridiculous craft ideas, in this case ceramics. Seriously, can you visualize me trying to do ceramics?! It was a disaster waiting to happen. As always, though, either she or Lisa jumped in to rescue me by doing the project for me. And now I have this lovely mug as a forever keepsake. Who else still has her mug? Celeste? Lindsey? Lisa? Teresa? Kim? Mandy, were you even in the ward yet? I'm thinking maybe not. For a long time I kept the mug on the very top shelf of my kitchen cupboard, so it would remain safe [read: unused.] Why is it down and in use today? Probably because our dog, Kitty, has chewed up every single cup we used to own, so now we're forced to drink out of coffee mugs. I might need to take this particular one out of circulation, however. I'd be so sad if anything happened to it.
Montana memories.
Just yesterday on Facebook, someone posted a report of the 100 best places to raise children. Portland, where I was raised, was 74th. Seattle was 54th. Salt Lake City didn't make the list. Guest what city came in third? Billings, Montana! Isaiah and Eli basically grew up in Billings; they were 13 and 11, respectively, when we moved there. It was a good place.
I suppose another event that evoked this sappy display of nostalgia was that Gerald and I were asked to substitute teach our ward's Gospel Doctrine class last Sunday. Isn't it weird how such a simple thing can take us right back to an earlier time? We had only one night's notice, but as we discussed the lesson that night and the following morning before church, I might as well have been right back in Billings. As we taught the lesson, all those crazy good feelings from the time we shared that calling washed over me with vengeance. I was so there. Over a year has passed. We have different callings in our ward here; Gerald is a Ward Missionary, and I am part of the Relief Society Presidency. But for those 40 minutes last Sunday, we were Gospel Doctrine teachers once again, and oooh baby was it ever fun!
Montana memories.
Montana memories.
When we left Billings 18 months ago, we left many friends behind, but with us we took endless memories. We never intended to stay there indefinitely; always, we knew one day we would leave, move on, continue our lives in a different and (hopefully) larger city. Always we knew this. So it wasn't sad when we left; it was the opposite really. It was exactly what we wanted. My heart was in Utah long before we actually moved here, like a good two years before. Moreover, it took a good two years of plotting and planning to make a relocation of this magnitude a reality. After a year and a half here in the Salt Lake Valley, I'm certain it was the right decision. We are happy here. Very.
Still, there are times, like this past week, when the memories of Montana are right close. The red mug was an enrichment project from way back in 2007, when I served as president of the Metra Ward Relief Society. Celeste would come up with these ridiculous craft ideas, in this case ceramics. Seriously, can you visualize me trying to do ceramics?! It was a disaster waiting to happen. As always, though, either she or Lisa jumped in to rescue me by doing the project for me. And now I have this lovely mug as a forever keepsake. Who else still has her mug? Celeste? Lindsey? Lisa? Teresa? Kim? Mandy, were you even in the ward yet? I'm thinking maybe not. For a long time I kept the mug on the very top shelf of my kitchen cupboard, so it would remain safe [read: unused.] Why is it down and in use today? Probably because our dog, Kitty, has chewed up every single cup we used to own, so now we're forced to drink out of coffee mugs. I might need to take this particular one out of circulation, however. I'd be so sad if anything happened to it.
Montana memories.
Just yesterday on Facebook, someone posted a report of the 100 best places to raise children. Portland, where I was raised, was 74th. Seattle was 54th. Salt Lake City didn't make the list. Guest what city came in third? Billings, Montana! Isaiah and Eli basically grew up in Billings; they were 13 and 11, respectively, when we moved there. It was a good place.
I suppose another event that evoked this sappy display of nostalgia was that Gerald and I were asked to substitute teach our ward's Gospel Doctrine class last Sunday. Isn't it weird how such a simple thing can take us right back to an earlier time? We had only one night's notice, but as we discussed the lesson that night and the following morning before church, I might as well have been right back in Billings. As we taught the lesson, all those crazy good feelings from the time we shared that calling washed over me with vengeance. I was so there. Over a year has passed. We have different callings in our ward here; Gerald is a Ward Missionary, and I am part of the Relief Society Presidency. But for those 40 minutes last Sunday, we were Gospel Doctrine teachers once again, and oooh baby was it ever fun!
Montana memories.
Monday, February 11, 2013
10,000 Page Views - Woo hoo!
My last post brought my total page views up over the 10,000 mark. Now I know that really isn't very many, especially since it's taken me nearly four years to get there. Gerald most likely gets that many views or more every single day for his About.com website. Still, for me and my little blog, 10,000 seems like a lot, and I was excited to see that number. Not that it's accurate necessarily; it isn't. How do I know? Because the statistics change all the time, and sometimes they decrease! For example, I'll check one day, and my page views for a particular post will be, say, 68. Then I'll check the following day, and the views for that very same post will be 62. How can they go down? It makes no sense. So no, this number is not accurate; however, I'm gonna take it. I'm gonna celebrate my 10,000 views regardless.
How will I celebrate? Hmmm. Maybe by musing over what this blog has meant to me since its inception way back on April 4th of 2009. I started the blog for a couple of reasons. First, I've always struggled to follow the age-old counsel from our church leaders to record a journal and write our personal histories. I'm simply not a journal writer. I can't imagine writing each day if I have nothing to say. I am more what you could call an essayist. I like to write around themes. Second, writing is therapy for me, and it's way cheaper than either a psychiatrist or a trip to the mall. It's also way more fun than a psychiatrist and, no, not as fun as a shopping trip, but as I said, considerably cheaper. Writing does, indeed, reduce my crappy anxiety. Sometimes, if I'm feeling super stressed, just opening a new window for a blog post helps calm my fears. As I write, I can feel the tension escaping, little by little, as I put the sentences and paragraphs together. By the time I finish, sometimes I can even relax enough to sleep!
I had no idea, though, all the other ways this blog would benefit and improve my life. That is mostly because I had no idea how many people would read it. I thought my immediate family might read it, some of them anyway. I knew Gerald and Shulamith would read it; I didn't know whether my sons would. I thought maybe my brother would check it out. And maybe Lindsey and Celeste. Possibly Mandy. Perhaps, at the very outside, Patty and Lorrie. I really didn't think it would go any further than that. Instead, though, the blog has attracted a much larger audience. Some who read it are folks I know well; others are people I know only as casual acquaintances; still others are those I honestly do not know at all. It's crazy. Most do not comment, either onto the blog itself or on Facebook, so I'm continually surprised when someone says, "Hey, I loved that post about __________." Really? You read it? Thanks!
No, I had no idea back in April of 2009 that I'd ever, in my entire lifetime, reach 10,000 page views. Not in my wildest dreams. More importantly, though, the blog has for sure fulfilled its original purposes. Each year, I assemble all the posts for that year into a hardcover book to keep for posterity. Maybe it's not exactly what the brethren intended when they asked us to keep a written record of our lives, but I think it works. And the blog has absolutely saved me from some pretty severe anxiety attacks or at least served to lessen the symptoms.
So let me take this opportunity to say "thank you" to everyone who reads it. Thank you for allowing me to share a little bit of my world with you, crazy and unorthodox as it may be: The things that make me happy, the things that make me sad, the things that make me passionate, the things that make me laugh, the things that make me mad, the things that make me nostalgic, the things that make me jubilant, the things that make me grateful, and all the other things that simply make me, me. Thank you.
10,000 page views - Woo hoo!
How will I celebrate? Hmmm. Maybe by musing over what this blog has meant to me since its inception way back on April 4th of 2009. I started the blog for a couple of reasons. First, I've always struggled to follow the age-old counsel from our church leaders to record a journal and write our personal histories. I'm simply not a journal writer. I can't imagine writing each day if I have nothing to say. I am more what you could call an essayist. I like to write around themes. Second, writing is therapy for me, and it's way cheaper than either a psychiatrist or a trip to the mall. It's also way more fun than a psychiatrist and, no, not as fun as a shopping trip, but as I said, considerably cheaper. Writing does, indeed, reduce my crappy anxiety. Sometimes, if I'm feeling super stressed, just opening a new window for a blog post helps calm my fears. As I write, I can feel the tension escaping, little by little, as I put the sentences and paragraphs together. By the time I finish, sometimes I can even relax enough to sleep!
I had no idea, though, all the other ways this blog would benefit and improve my life. That is mostly because I had no idea how many people would read it. I thought my immediate family might read it, some of them anyway. I knew Gerald and Shulamith would read it; I didn't know whether my sons would. I thought maybe my brother would check it out. And maybe Lindsey and Celeste. Possibly Mandy. Perhaps, at the very outside, Patty and Lorrie. I really didn't think it would go any further than that. Instead, though, the blog has attracted a much larger audience. Some who read it are folks I know well; others are people I know only as casual acquaintances; still others are those I honestly do not know at all. It's crazy. Most do not comment, either onto the blog itself or on Facebook, so I'm continually surprised when someone says, "Hey, I loved that post about __________." Really? You read it? Thanks!
No, I had no idea back in April of 2009 that I'd ever, in my entire lifetime, reach 10,000 page views. Not in my wildest dreams. More importantly, though, the blog has for sure fulfilled its original purposes. Each year, I assemble all the posts for that year into a hardcover book to keep for posterity. Maybe it's not exactly what the brethren intended when they asked us to keep a written record of our lives, but I think it works. And the blog has absolutely saved me from some pretty severe anxiety attacks or at least served to lessen the symptoms.
So let me take this opportunity to say "thank you" to everyone who reads it. Thank you for allowing me to share a little bit of my world with you, crazy and unorthodox as it may be: The things that make me happy, the things that make me sad, the things that make me passionate, the things that make me laugh, the things that make me mad, the things that make me nostalgic, the things that make me jubilant, the things that make me grateful, and all the other things that simply make me, me. Thank you.
10,000 page views - Woo hoo!
Tuesday, February 5, 2013
Irony
Several years ago (like maybe 12?), Isaiah was playing on a kids' soccer team. Let's be clear. For the most part, in our family, we don't raise athletes. Eli loved sports and played on many different teams through the years. He was pretty average in ability, and he had fun. But a star athlete he would never be. Shulamith played softball, soccer, and basketball as a kid, and was very much like Eli. The other three boys fared less well. They are gifted in so many areas, primarily academic, but oh how they struggle with physical activities.
Which brings us back to Isaiah. By the time he was 8 or 9, the "everyone gets to play equally" rule was long in the past. Winning was now the single goal, and Isaiah spent nearly all his time sitting on the bench. I hated watching that. On the other hand, I also trembled inside on those rare occasions that he was put in the game, knowing he wouldn't play well, and people would be unkind. Motherhood is not for wimps. Eventually, the time would come when he would decide soccer was not for him, but sometime before then, he made perhaps his most ironic and hilarious comment, one I will never forget. In his childhood attempt to make a sense of a world in which certain things (all sports) were so terribly difficult while other things (reading, writing, math, computers, everything related to school) were so easy, he declared:
"I'm actually a pretty good soccer player. I'm just not good at scoring goals."
And why did I think of this recently? Because of other ironic statements that have circulated our home, ones that make me laugh out loud. Yes, today I can laugh at Isaiah's statement. Today I can laugh because he has grown into an amazing, confident, caring, and extremely intelligent young man. And the fact that he wasn't good at sports as a kid and probably never will be makes no difference whatsoever. Back then, I didn't laugh. Back then, I'd have given anything to make him the star soccer player. Just once. Back then, the mom in me, who so desperately yearned for his success because he wanted it so badly, couldn't laugh.
So the other day, Gerald pronounced with the determination the only he can muster:
"I'm really good at looking for things. I'm just not good at finding them."
Irony. Isn't it great? Gerald spends copious amounts of time searching for things and sometimes actually finds them, but not usually, and it takes a really long time.
At that, Shulamith chimed in with this brilliant piece of information:
"Mom is really good at dieting. She's just not good at losing weight."
True that. I've been fighting the same final five pounds, the absence of which would give me the body of my dreams (at least I'm pretty sure it would), for as long as I can remember. I will not give up. I will master this. These five stupid pounds will not defeat me.
So that is my contribution to the world today, three statements of irony from my wonderful family. I hope they give you reason to smile.
Which brings us back to Isaiah. By the time he was 8 or 9, the "everyone gets to play equally" rule was long in the past. Winning was now the single goal, and Isaiah spent nearly all his time sitting on the bench. I hated watching that. On the other hand, I also trembled inside on those rare occasions that he was put in the game, knowing he wouldn't play well, and people would be unkind. Motherhood is not for wimps. Eventually, the time would come when he would decide soccer was not for him, but sometime before then, he made perhaps his most ironic and hilarious comment, one I will never forget. In his childhood attempt to make a sense of a world in which certain things (all sports) were so terribly difficult while other things (reading, writing, math, computers, everything related to school) were so easy, he declared:
"I'm actually a pretty good soccer player. I'm just not good at scoring goals."
And why did I think of this recently? Because of other ironic statements that have circulated our home, ones that make me laugh out loud. Yes, today I can laugh at Isaiah's statement. Today I can laugh because he has grown into an amazing, confident, caring, and extremely intelligent young man. And the fact that he wasn't good at sports as a kid and probably never will be makes no difference whatsoever. Back then, I didn't laugh. Back then, I'd have given anything to make him the star soccer player. Just once. Back then, the mom in me, who so desperately yearned for his success because he wanted it so badly, couldn't laugh.
So the other day, Gerald pronounced with the determination the only he can muster:
"I'm really good at looking for things. I'm just not good at finding them."
Irony. Isn't it great? Gerald spends copious amounts of time searching for things and sometimes actually finds them, but not usually, and it takes a really long time.
At that, Shulamith chimed in with this brilliant piece of information:
"Mom is really good at dieting. She's just not good at losing weight."
True that. I've been fighting the same final five pounds, the absence of which would give me the body of my dreams (at least I'm pretty sure it would), for as long as I can remember. I will not give up. I will master this. These five stupid pounds will not defeat me.
So that is my contribution to the world today, three statements of irony from my wonderful family. I hope they give you reason to smile.
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