Be Still

 I love these little people; and it is not a slight thing when they, who are so fresh from God, love us.

Charles Dickens    

I’ve always thought the youngest among us have God on speed-dial--and vice-versa. Don’t believe me? Watch how a little child notices all the tiny details in the world. Butterflies spreading their wings, flowers about to bloom, tiny inchworms scooting along a branch:  the littlest among us notice these things while we tend to rush by it all, usually dragging the child along by the hand, begging him to hurry up. We don’t stay still long enough to listen, see or feel these brushes with God.

This past Wednesday, Theo’s class had a Muffins with Mom morning event. Our morning ride to school was filled with excitement as Theo chatted away at what was to come. I couldn’t wait to see Theo as a gruff old Billy Goat, especially since one of his best pals was to play the Troll under the bridge. And it was going to be nice to see the interaction between Theo and “Ms. Kaffwen,” his beloved music teacher.

3 best pals

The other Teddy Bear moms and I walked down to the Music Room, chatting and laughing about new babies who’ve been born, new babies who are due to arrive and how quickly the year has flown by. Two minutes later, our 4 year olds entered.

They did several adorable songs for us, and even showed off an absolutely precious dance (and the word “precious” typically makes me roll my eyes, but there’s really no other adjective to describe their dance). 

See this sweet girl with Theo? 

Her daddy is our veterinarian. 

Make a mental note of that.

The grand finale involved each child making his or her nest out of 2 scarves and pretending to be a bird.

Midway through the song, Theo ran over to me in absolute tears. 

A mom knows her child’s cries. This was a hurt cry--a gutteral, ugly, skip-breath type of cry akin to the one you yourself had when you were dumped in high school. It was a red-faced, runny-nosed weep session. At first I thought someone had stepped on his hand or something and hurt him terribly--it was that serious of a cry. 

And it went on and on. He wept on my shoulder for the remainder of the music class presentation. He wept as we walked back to his classroom. He stood with his head buried in my shirt and wouldn’t play his role as the Billy Goat. He didn’t want to eat the snack we were to share together. 

He only perked up when it was time for me to open his Mother’s Day gift to me.

Oh my:  his tiny handprint, cut from clay and fired to make a soap dish--along with homemade soap (he made his smell like strawberries, his favorite fruit). It’s beautiful. It’s perfect. It fits perfectly in my hand--for now.

And yes, the metaphor was already floating around in my head as I felt this smooth, little hand nestled gently in my own. I wish time would slow down. I wish Theo could stay little forever.

When it was time for me to leave, Theo cried again--a rarity. In fact, his 3 incredible teachers each said they’d never seen him so upset. 

I drove away from the school, certain they would be calling me to come get him within the hour. I knew something just was not right.

I found out what that not right thing was as soon as I walked in the door.

Our sweet Henny-Penny had passed away.

I've had Henry since he was a puppy. My sons have never known a day of their lives without him. He was 14.

Henry and his brother Alfie navigate the steps leading to my first house in Atlanta. They were about 2.5 months old in this picture.

Henry had a whole lot of personality packed into his little blond furry self. Before he grew too old to jump, he had a penchant for standing on the breakfast table. (Note there is no food on the table; he's just up there to get a better view or to prove a point or something. Bold, that dog.) 

He took his beds seriously and would spend tons of time scratching and ruffling around until he had his nest just right. It didn't matter what the nest was made of--towels, a blanket, newspapers, an inflatable Christmas tree (seen below)--Henry was the master of fluffy nest building.

He also was obsessed with burying his food. Or trying to. It's kind of tough to get a hardwood floor to rumple up and cover one's food bowl, but that didn't stop Henry from trying. At every. Single. Meal. Even after he had all but 4 of his teeth removed (or maybe that's especially after he had all but 4 of his teeth removed.)

Henry led a good life. 

Scratch that. Henry led a great life.

He was loved tremendously by all.

I know I'm grasping for straws here, but I can't help but think Theo knew in his heart the exact moment Henry passed away. Something strange happened to him at the moment Henry began his new journey--something more than having his scarf accidentally picked up by another "bird" caused such a pitiful, melancholic, helpless torrent of emotion from my 4-year old son. Something rattled his little soul, and Theo is still innocent enough to have felt it; Theo knew something moved out of place in his world, and he didn't know how to react--except to lean into his mother. I'm so very thankful I was there to take his little hand and hold him and comfort him, even though at the time, I had no idea why he was so viscerally upset.

Maybe if we all worked to be a little quieter in our own souls, we could feel such changes, too.

Godspeed, sweet Henny-Bug. 

You are so missed but will never, ever be forgotten.

Oh, it is hard to take to heart the lesson that such deaths will teach; but let no man reject it, for it is one that all must learn, and is a mighty universal truth. When death strikes down the innocent...for every fragile form from which he lets the panting spirit free, a hundred virtues rise, in shapes of Mercy, Charity, and Love, to walk the world, and bless it. Of every tear that sorrowing mortals shed on such green graves, some good is born, some gentler nature comes. In the destroyer’s steps there spring up bright creations that defy his power, and his dark path becomes a way of light to heaven.

Charles Dickens

Be still, and know that I am God. Psalm 46:10

The Family Jewels

No, no, not those family jewels, though I was tempted to write about our son’s new adventures regarding the cup he must now wear during baseball (worn in addition to his regular underwear? Testing it out by having his brother punch him? I can’t make these things up.).

Instead, let’s talk about the other family jewels: comfort items.

I bring this up because yesterday we had an incident. Seems a certain younger brother told his best friend that his older brother still slept with a stuffed animal. (The irony in this is that the younger brother--who is 7, mind you--still sleeps with a receiving blanket, Linus-style. Of course, that little factoid was never mentioned.)

As my boys piled in the car yesterday afternoon, my oldest, Jack, started going at his brother in a squeaky, squabbly voice--the ripply one you have when you are trying your hardest not to cry. By the time they were buckled up, both were in tears: one in denial of having done anything wrong and the other because his brother had told a friend “a personal fact about [him].” (Jack’s words exactly).

When we got home, Jack took me by the hand and led me to the back corner of the pantry where he told me that Tucker’s friend had said to him, “I hear you still sleep with a stuffed animal.” I’ve never seen my son’s eyes wider, the worry in his heart any heavier than at that very moment.

This stuffed animal is not just any stuffed animal; he’s Dog. He’s Jack’s Dog. Dog has been with Jack since May 19, 2005--Jack’s first birthday. Dog has flown first class, been shipped FedEx, and has been blessed by more than one priest. His passport has been stamped in 2 countries, and he’s crossed countless state lines. 

We commissioned an artist to paint a watercolor of Dog for Jack’s 5th birthday. When Jack opened it, he teared up and was speechless. It’s hard to be more moved than when you see your 5 year old with his mouth agape, holding his Dog in one hand and touching a framed painting with the other. That’s love in its purest form, to be sure.

Dog has been to the “spa” (through the washer and dryer) so often that he’s lost a lot of his fuzz, and his black eyes are no longer shiny. Jack totes him around in a way that has caused him to fold over at the belly, and when he was a toddler, Jack would rub Dog’s stubby tail between his fingers, so there’s no stuffing left there at all. 

Once, when asked what he would wish for if given 3 wishes, Jack quickly replied, “For Dog to come to life.” Dog is indeed his best friend.

So, yes, Jack still sleeps with him, just as he has for the past 2,866 nights (I counted), and he was embarrassed for someone else to know this. 

This lack of self-confidence is such a cornerstone in growing up. You and I would say, “so what if someone thinks it’s silly to sleep with Dog? You love Dog and that’s that.” But Jack is just embarking on these rocky waves spanning the distance between childhood and adolescence. 

How do you explain to your son who is closing in on the last few years of his childhood that what he’s feeling is worry and uncertainty? 

How do you explain to him that he shouldn’t feel embarrassed about something he believes in?

How do you tell him it’s ok to still be a child?

It’s so hard to find the right balance between being a protective mom, respectful and understanding of my son’s emotional insecurity, while also encouraging his growth, patiently nurturing him and readying him to stretch his wings.

I hugged Jack so hard in that corner by the pantry. I got down on my knees so that I was eye-to-eye with him and told him that I understood how icky Tucker’s friend had made him feel, and that I was so, so sorry. I told him I was so proud of how he handled himself on that playground. I made sure he knew he could always come to me when something upsets him, no matter what.

And I told him that he’d never, ever have to give up Dog.

Like ever.

I have visions of this being one of those memories that sticks with Jack forever, one of the rare teachable moments where discomfort and joy, worry and relief swirl together to create an indelible lesson for both mother and son.

Isn’t that what parenting is all about? Providing love, safety, compassion, comfort and guidance? Talk about some family jewels worth protecting. When I was tucking Jack in last night, he pulled Dog out of the covers and pushed him over to my cheek for a kiss. My son smiled up at me and then hugged Dog tight.

I swear I saw a little sparkle in Dog’s chipped, black eyes.

Rock on, Dog. You rock on.

Thoughts on Spring Break, Part II

EPCOT rocks.

I mean, I know I'm late to the ball and all seeing as EPCOT is 31 years old this year, but it's still awesome.

I remember hearing about EPCOT opening way back when I was in 5th grade. Man, did I want to go. The futuristic, science-y aspects of it were quite cool to a nerdy kid such as myself. I was currently knee-deep in a group project with 3 of my favorite folks (looking at you, Lari, Matt and Bruce) on the planet Pluto and its recently discovered moon, Charon (no, I didn't need to wikipedia that, either. Total space nerd). The National Geographic magazine we eviscerated for our poster is probably still in my toybox at my parents' home.

I thought I was going to be the next great astronomer. That's astronOMER, not astronAUT; an astronaut actually has to do scary things like fly on rockets. An astronomer just peers up into the night sky (or so I thought).

All this is to say that I was fired up about my inaugural visit to EPCOT, and I did all I could to get the boys just as excited.

Our first stop was the Test Track. The high-pitched zooming of the vehicles as they whipped around the tight circular structure above us should have clued me in. Remember, I don't like to actually do scary things.

The Test Track is pretty cool if you know what you're getting into...which none of us did, except for Mr. Smiley in the green shirt in the photo below. He came through the "individual rider" line and--lucky for him--was plunked down into the vehicle with the rest of our family of neophytes. As our car pulled out of the gate, he mentioned that we would be going over 60mph around the last part of the track. It was too late to get off the ride.

Notice Jack and Theo gripping Russ's hands, Tucker gripping my arm, and me in a state of panic. Mr. Green-Shirt, however, is happily mugging for the camera. Show off.

Our next ride was Soarin', an Imax-ish hang-gliding simulator. Jack and I both jumped out of the line only to be talked into it by the dude working the gate. Soarin' was very open and windy and tolerable, despite all the maniacal warnings on every wall leading up to it.

We took it down a notch from that point on. We roamed over to the Mexico pavilion for lunch inside the Mayan temple.

Jack insisted we do Agent P's World Showcase Adventure (from Phineas and Ferb). It's a terrific idea: old cellphones are programmed with clues that lead adventurers on a scavenger hunt through different areas of EPCOT. When you find the answer to the clue, you scan it with the phone. The item typically reacts by becoming animated and then you receive your next clue.

For my boys--who like Phineas and Ferb as much as they like puzzle-mysteries--this little adventure was awesome...except for the one kid who kept trailing us and telling us where the items were located. I had to throw out the teacher-voice at one point, telling him we were happy for him that he'd found all the clues but to leave us alone as we were working on them ourselves. I still have no idea where his family was.

Jack pulled us into the Norway section. It was fabulous. Again, the warnings for the ride (the Maelstrom--that just sounds ominous, doesn't it) were a bit over-the-top. In my opinion, a ride cannot be "family-friendly" yet include "rapid plunges".

Of course, you exit the ride via a gift shop, but this one had some utterly unique items.

We ended up only seeing 3 country sections in the World Showcase: Mexico, China (for the Agent P adventure) and Norway. EPCOT is a place we will certainly revisit.

We went to see the Luau at the Polynesian again because Jack and Tucker enjoyed it so much on their first visit 2 years ago. I highly recommend ordering a vegetarian meal. Enough said.

The blur below would be Jack, post-Luau.

Sea World was next on our whirlwind tour of all central Florida has to offer. It opened in 1973. Most of it looks like it opened in 1973.

Sea World is probably most famous for its Shamu/Killer Whale show. Sea World Orlando runs the show twice a day, and it features 7 killer whales, none of whom are actually named Shamu. The killer whale show has been tamed a bit since 2010 when one whale--named Tilikum--went postal and chomped his trainer in Shamu Stadium (yes, it's actually called that).

Tilikum is one bad dude. He has been responsible for the deaths of 3 people. His last temper tantrum (in 2010) earned him a one-year time-out from Shamu Stadium. But apparently Tilikum also has some mad jumping skills because they still trot him out in Orlando.

That right there below, folks, is Tilikum. And the trainer to the right is probably waving goodbye to her family in case Tilikum flips the switch again.

You'd think being that close to a known killer would hold my sons' attentions, but they got a little squirrelly 10 minutes into the show.

A tiny bit of free advice:  don't succumb to the temptation of seeing your kid's name on the Jumbo-Tron. Adorable little creatures spend the time leading up to the show flitting around the screen, asking you to text your kid's name to the number on the Jumbo-Tron. Doing so will earn you endless spam texts for the rest of your time in Orlando.

The kid's area in Sea World is great. Here Theo gets to be the conductor of the train.

Jack, on the other hand, was not so impressed with the train ride.

We have 2 daredevils in our household:  Russ and Tucker. Behold as they brave the Shamu-Express (the kiddie roller coaster). Russ is in the red sweatshirt on the left. Tuck looks a bit shell-shocked, but he recovered quickly and proceeded to brag about his braveness the rest of the day.

Sea World is chock full of terrifying looking rides: the Manta, the Kraken, the Journey to Atlantis...even if our crew had been tall enough to ride these things, we would have taken a pass. But the Wild Arctic simulator ride? Sounds innocuous enough, right? (Remember, Jack and I had previously manned-up to ride Soarin' at EPCOT. We can do simulators; they are fake.) And all those big, scary warning signs? Oh, that's just them crying wolf again. Nothing to fear.

Holy panic attack, Batman. If you are a white-knuckle-flyer, you do not want to get strapped down in a seat in a big metal box and then endure 5 minutes of extreme turbulence as you "fly" in a helicopter through a blizzard. I almost fainted. I almost barfed. It was ugly. Never. Again.

The memory of it alone is enough to give me the shakes.

Who knew a recap of Spring Break could be drawn out so far? It's doubtful anyone is still tagging along for the ride other than family, but if so, I thank you and will reward you with Tucker's stage premiere and hints for maneuvering Islands of Adventure/Universal Studios.

Then we'll be back to our regular programming, I promise. Unless Tilikum busts out of Orlando and comes after me for exposing him for the killer whale that he is. Even hardened criminals deserve a fourth chance, right?

(Hmmm, maybe not.)