And Now You Are 9

How is that possible? 

One more year until double digits? 

How am I old enough to be a mom to a 9 year old boy. 

How did I get so lucky to be blessed with such an amazing, funny, sweet, sensitive, creative, confident little boy?

I don't know how it has happened, how you are already nine years, but I know I wouldn't trade a minute of it.  

I hope you never lose the part of you that makes you unique among your peers.  You are truly one of a kind and I am so proud to be your mom.  

For The Last Time

For the last time I walked into this room and sat at this table.

Four years ago I walked in with my 7 month old baby, and Brandon at my side. This was an exciting moment, our first parent-teacher conference. Even though it was only preschool it was such a big step. I was no longer the teacher welcoming in nervous, or excited parents, but I was that parent. The one the teacher smiles at, asks to sit, and then begins to tell them about their child.

This conference did not go as I expected and my smile, turned to a scowl, and then to tears. Unfortunately, this was not the only time I cried at a conference. Last week I went to a conference for my middle son and when I walked into the room I saw that all was ready for me. At the empty table where we would sit was a full box of kleenex. Oh, yes, my tears are expected and prepared for.

Four years later I am once again at that little preschool table. This time it is for that little 7 month old baby that came with me the first time. This time I came alone. Not even Brandon came with for moral support.  This time I was there to hear about my youngest, my baby, my last one, the one about to turn 5.

It was a new teacher but the conversation was the same. For the third time it was recommended that my beautiful, amazing, smart, funny, active boy wait one more year for Kindergarten.  This time I did not react with anger or sadness. I smiled and thanked the teacher for her honesty and for truly knowing my son. We were on the fence with what to do for school next year and her knowledge of my son helped to solidify the decision.

Three times I have sat at this table (okay actually four, we did it twice for Jack). Three times I have been told my son was not ready for kindergarten and should wait.  Twice it was for social and emotional development, once it was for academic.

Each time the decision on what to do was all consuming, and sometimes overwhelming.  Thinking of pros and cons, what this decision would do for my son's future, what was truly best for that particular son, consumed me.

One son we kept at this same preschool for two years.

One son we decided at the last minute to send to kindergarten.

One son we will wait but move to a pre-K closer to home.

For the last time I sat at this table. This time I did not cry, I laughed, I listened, I talked.  But I did not cry.

I cried later realizing the end of an era for my boys and me.

That Was Awkward

Today I was late bringing Finn and his friend to preschool. That, unfortunately, seems to be pretty standard around here right now. Me, running late, I mean. But today it created a slightly awkward social encounter.

After getting both boys out of the car and heading to the door I turned around and found a parent standing behind me. Yesterday his twin boys made Finn a flag of Japan. Which was nice, so I felt I should say thank you. After I did he still stood there, so I assumed I should make conversation. But I really didn't have anything to say and there is a bit of a language issue so I said the first thing that came to mind.

"We would love to have your twin sons over for a play-date."  (Even though Finn has said it was ok, as long as only one came).

He was kind of surprised but said, sure. I thought I would show my ESL skills and asked if it would be easier if I emailed him some suggested day and times.

That seemed to be a good idea. Then this dad asked if I wanted to write down his email. Well, I didn't have a pen, paper, or my phone. I had only grabbed my keys when I got out of the car.  Hmm. Well, he could write down his email for me.

That seemed like a good idea.  But, when he went to get a piece of paper, he had to go around me to open the door.  And that is when I realized he wasn't actually waiting to talk to me. Rather I was standing in front of his car door. Effectively blocking him from driving away.

So, I didn't have to actually set up a playdate with two 4 year old twin boys who only speak Japanese.

As Jack would say, "Well, that was awkward."

Second Guessing

So this weekend I spent many hours folding clothes, sorting clothes, and relentlessly purging.  I ended up with several bags of clothes and I quickly took them to the Goodwill on Monday so I would not be tempted to go have second thoughts.

This time I took a hard look at all of the clothes they have worn and got rid of them even if they had sentimental value.

The shirt Jack made in Kindergarten for his class field trip - gone. Why would Micah want to wear it?

The apple shirt Micah made in Kindergarten - gone. Seriously, Finn will be making his own in a year.

The orange KEXP shirt Jack wore all summer - yep, gone.

All of Micah's sports league t-shirts - out of here. How many do you really need?

But then today I saw this:

A T-Shirt Quilt

Um, yeah.

Never mind that I only have 5 or so shirts. That I can't sew. I have zero understanding of quilting.  And assuming that of course my boys would LOVE to have a giant quilt made out of old t-shirts.

None of that matters. All I am thinking about is what time does Goodwill open tomorrow? I wonder if I can go and buy back all of their t-shirts?

That's not crazy, right?

Micah In The Middle

Selfishly, I probably always wanted three kids just simply so I could have a middle child. And my Micah is so much like me, in looks, personality, and birth order.  Being in the middle has its pros and cons.  You get to be both a big and little sibling.  But you never get your own room (unless you live in a mansion). You are never first or last. The middle seat in the car tends to be yours.

When I was in the fifth grade I remember sitting at the kitchen table and my mom handed me a present. "What is this for?" I asked.
"It's a 'just because' gift." my mom said.
Just because I was me. Just because I was in the middle. Just because that was a really tough year.  I'm not sure but it will forever be one of my favorite memories. I opened the box to find purple leggings, complete with stirrups, and a white sweatshirt with a multi-colored confetti design on it. I LOVED that outfit and wore it as much as possible. And every time I did, I remembered that it was just for me. And just because.

Recently, life has been hard for little Micah. School isn't as easy for him as it is for Jack.  His very best friend from Kindergarten is turning out to not be such a good friend this year.  He seems just a little lost in the chaos that is our family.

A few Saturdays ago between soccer ending and Christmas stuff starting, we found ourselves at home. It was the perfect day for a date with Micah.  Instead of pb&j for lunch, we headed to his favorite restaurant, Subway, for a lunch date. One tuna sandwich with cheese, olives, and pickles, later, we were set.  I tried a bite of his and gagged. He tried a bite of mine and declared it disgusting. We both agreed we loved our own sandwiches. We talked about school, soccer, and Hunger Games.

It wasn't a gift but it was a lunch date, just because.

Our Fake Thanksgiving With Strangers

That is what the boys called it.  I kind of thought it was more like mission work in our own backyard.  But whatever you called it we did host a thanksgiving meal, on Saturday, to three strangers.  And some really good friends.

For several weeks in our church bulletin there was an announcement to host a group of international students in your home for a Thanksgiving feast. The idea was that these students will spend a year or more in our community and never actually step foot into a real home.

Ever since moving, I have felt so blessed by our house.  It is not a giant house but the open space does allow for entertaining (even if the kitchen is quite small).  I have tried to be open to how we could share our home with others, but so far no one has taken me up on the offer to move into our extra bedroom. I thought hosting a meal for international students was a good first step.

Brandon was not as excited when I mentioned it to him. In fact he thought it was a bad idea.  Probably because the students were here to learn English and it would be challenging to converse with them.  I sweetened the pot by adding that we would invite some friends of ours from church (fingers crossed that they would actually come).  Plus, I said, remember when my mom used to host Japanese exchange students and how much my niece and nephew loved them?  This will be so fun, and a good experience for our kids.

It wasn't until I was getting instructions on how to buy a Halal turkey and to definitely not cook any pork that I realized I may have made a mistake in who I thought would be coming over. It wasn't Japanese international students but rather students from Saudi Arabia.

And this is when I realized just how ignorant and biased I was towards people from the middle east.  I have been reading the book, Interrupted by Jen Hatmaker, and in it she talks about going out into your community and serving the least, the forgotten, the forsaken.   For her it was walking alongside the homeless community and creating true relationships with them.  Realizing that they have stories that are not so different from you and I. That by loving them she is truly living out God's message to serve the forsaken.  When reading this in my small group a friend shared how she felt towards Muslims, and I remember thinking, 'huh, I don't know any but I am sure I am fine with them'.

Turns out that was not the case. As soon as I knew that we would be hosting students from the Middle East, I actually started to hope no one would show up. We live far from our church so transportation was an issue.  Maybe we would just end up with a thanksgiving party with our friends. Wouldn't that be fun? It would, but that wasn't the point.

We got our list of names on Thursday, we said 4 students who could provide their own transportation. 5 signed up and 3 needed rides.  And they were all men.  This is when I truly started to panic, and all of my ignorance came to light. I don't even know how to refer to these men are they Arabic, Egyptian (so not right, but Jack did a great Egyptian dance for them), Muslim, Middle Eastern?  How do I explain them and their customs to my boys?

The day finally arrived. I had emailed and called all the names on our list and had no response. I finally got an email from one of them asking for a ride.  An hour before dinner was to be ready Brandon left to drive 35 minutes to pick up our guests. In a moment of panic I called a friend and left a rather crazy message that basically said, "what if they get in Brandon's car with a backpack. Should we ask to see inside?" You know in case they have a bomb. DO YOU SEE HOW INSANE I WAS? It was humbling to realize just how afraid I was.

In the end our fake thanksgiving was better then most of us expected. One of our friends said he didn't really think this would be fun but he was going to support our mission outreach, but it turned out to be really good.  Our three guests were nice young men, who are far from home and their families.  It made me sad to think of sending my (in the future) 19 year old son so far away to live and attend school. We talked, we laughed, we probably confused them with our quotes from Friends, and scared them with our food.  Upon leaving all three guests said, "thank you for your hospitality". I hope they truly felt welcomed at our house.

It wasn't the experience I was expecting, and it wasn't quite a fake thanksgiving with strangers, but it was how we had, Sultan, Mohammed, and Turkey over for dinner.

Welcome in Arabic

And That's a Wrap

Micah just finished his 3rd year of soccer. I'm not sure how we became a soccer family, or even why we started in the first place. Finally after many practices and rainy games, we have an official soccer player on our hands.  This was the first year where the kids actually played real soccer, complete with goalies.  Micah loved being goalie. I kind of think it was because he didn't have to run as much when he was goalie.

This past Saturday was our last game of the season. With the way our fall has been, I have missed several of his games. Getting ready on Saturday he asked if I was going to be at his game.  I told him of course I would be there. And I was so glad I was.  Micah scored the winning goal of the game. It was only his second goal of the season, and the only one I was there for.  Micah kicked it and then we all held our breath as it went towards to goal, slowed down, and then (to be honest) ricocheted in.  But all that mattered was the ball went into the goal. Micah paused and then turned to look at me, with a "did you see that?" look on his face.  Indeed, I did, my sweet, competitive, soccer-loving boy.

The soccer star with his coach