Nerdy Boys

When meeting with pregnant moms and new families, I often do an exercise that has them look ahead to the future, to envision who their child may be.  This particular session helps parents choose characteristics that are important to them and see how they have the ability to help shape who they become.

As my boys were growing up, I sensed they would be athletic but it was obvious early on that neither would be a jock.  Both loved baseball and began playing almost before they could reach the tee.  Austin grew to love watching the sport more than playing and even coached, though he was young.  Noah dabbled in about every sport through grade school, from soccer to basketball to a short stint in football.  Though they had the build, sports just weren't their passion.

Austin took after me and was quiet, reserved, with a handful of close friends, but a friendly face to many.  He was content reading and being alone, collecting rocks, playing chess and being in the band.

Noah, on the other hand, was a talker who never met a stranger.  Every parent-teacher conference I've ever attended, the teacher has made it a point to comment on how much Noah likes to talk.   It's a characteristic of his I love and one that will serve him well in life so he's never been told to "quiet down."  Well, except maybe in a church pew!

When Noah was little I wondered if he would be our popular triathlete, the way he picked up friends and each sport so quickly.  But as he transitioned out of grade school, we began to see a shift in his interests.

He traded in the balls for a bow and began archery.  Like his brother, he learned to play chess and found a love for strategy games.  Food and cooking became his passion.  He's especially interested in how science and food can work together and is a flavor fanatic, blending spices you would never consider but are always a pleasant surprise.

Like his mom, his taste in music is eclectic, though he's found more obscure genres than even I did as his age.  He knows artists from other cultures and nationalities by name.  I think he shocked his Spanish teacher by requesting songs for the music she plays in class.

His recent obsession is dueling.  Years and years of collecting cards as a kid has paid off, as his friends now gather daily to play and strategize.  They even managed to get it recognized as a club so they could meet at school once a month.

For his birthday this past week, stopping at a gaming store was one of his requests. Tim and I stayed in the car while four teenage boys went inside to "nerd it up" (their words).  Through the swishing of my wipers, my smile grew watching their excitement.  They browsed the store, card by card, for more than an hour and we were happy to wait.  Considering the choices boys their age have to occupy their time, I consider myself pretty blessed to have a nerdy boy.

Nerdy boys are smart and worldly, having a variety of interests and can carry great conversations.  They are creative and imaginative.  Sensitive and sweet.  Nerdy boys may not have hundreds of fans cheering them on but this mom will always be rooting loudly for hers.

Surrounded by friends, strategy games, and strawberry champagne cake.  

Happy 17th, baby boy.  I hope it was one to remember.

Blue Jean Baby

When my boys were little, a squirm was enough of a sign for me to know they needed a tag in their shirt cut out.  Their body language told me everything without the need for words.  If I delayed in getting the scissors, the squirm would increase and sometimes a whine or two would escape.

Both always had very definite opinions about their clothing choices, once they were old enough to voice them.  No dressy or itchy shirts, no khakis, no matchy-matchy outfits.  I wonder if they were in a silent torture back in the Garanimal days.

My baby will be sixteen in a week.  For Noah, once puberty hit, the pants came off.  Part werewolf, he lives in shorts and a T-shirt 365 days a year.  And still complains he is hot.

In the beginning, I feared a visit from social services, as I was convinced every mother was shaking her head at the school drop-off each morning and mentally noting my license plate.  I would beg him to wear pants, even sweatpants would be sufficient.  At times, I offered pajama pants just for being out in the cold.  He could cram them in his backpack once inside.  Hoodies became a bargaining chip.
'My legs will get frostbite but my arms will stay warm' reasoning.

After awhile, I just gave up.  He's a big hunk of a boy and I figured if he gets cold enough, he'll wear more clothing.

Aside from wearing shorts, he also makes some very colorful choices.  Remembering my all-black phase from 7th grade, I bite my lip and let him express himself...most of the time.  Bright basketball shorts, a t-shirt that does anything but match, and knee-length boldly colored socks.  All three pieces usually opposites on the color wheel.  Add in a pair of size 15 shoes with neon orange stripes and it is impossible not to notice him.

The other night, he comes to my room and says, "Mom we need to talk."

This, of course, puts me on alert, but I play it cool.  Don't pounce, let him come to you.
I sleepily set up and nonchalantly ask what he needs.

"My boss pulled me aside tonight...new policy changes...dress code...asked if I even owned pants."

At this point, I'm rolling (and also internally worrying if the question of owning pants was sincere or meant to be funny) but mostly in a fit of laughter from the way he describes their conversation.  He's moaning now, the squirm already inching up his shoulder as he thinks about having to cover his legs.
Tim and I pick on him a few more times before bed and I promise to help him look through his closet in the morning.

The next day he begins the fashion show.  Again, no words are needed as he marches, stiff-legged, out the hallway.  His entire body is tense, as if the blue jeans are physically freezing up his muscles with each step.  One after one, the parade reveals busted zippers, too tight-won't close, and ripped pants.  Two of his jeans have gaping holes in the upper right thigh.  What are you doing to flex and burst through denim fiber in exactly the same spot?!

We manage to find the one decent pair of jeans he was forced to wear to Sadie Hawkins in the fall.  (Seems his girlfriend has more persuasion than momma)  And make a plan to go shopping later that day.

Unsure of his size, as he hasn't been forced to choose a waist/length measurement for quite some time, we load up on a few possibilities and he creates a fort in the nearest dressing room.  Being that he will literally only wear these to work (and probably strip in the car on the way home), I'm going for cheap and scrounging the clearance aisles.  I manage to find a couple under $10, which for the amount of material it takes to cover his football frame, is a steal.

I'm quickly informed; however, they are in fact an impossible color choice.  Apparently, even for a uniform, style matters.  White is not acceptable.  I think about correcting him, as truly they're just a faded washout, but I calculate the irritable scale and decide it is against better judgement to push further buttons.  Under my breath, I do mention that they are a good deal and just work pants but let it go at that.  In the end, we leave an hour later with a couple choices, a few twenties missing from the wallet, and a flustered, red-faced boy.

Saturday night would see his first shift with fully covered legs.  I prayed it wouldn't be too typical of a slammed evening, considering the snowy weather.  Thankfully, he got out in record time and managed to remain fully clothed all the way into the house.

Here's hoping he can survive Tuesday's shift.

And learn to regulate his body temperature before summer arrives.  

Thankful-Eve

Feet up, a glowing moon out the back window, and the scents of Thanksgiving drifting from the kitchen.

Oh, what a grateful heart I have tonight.

Tomorrow will begin the first of many meals and house hopping this weekend.  While it will be wonderful seeing family, I can already feel the exhaustion that comes.  For now, I'm reflecting on the special moments of the day.

Life is all about which side you want to focus on...the good or the bad.

Today was filled with a mix of Busy and Bliss.  Anger and Joy.  Tired and Rested.  Frazzled and Humbled.

Our morning began tense, as Noah woke up more than a little grumpy.  He is so not a morning person, even though I let him sleep in until nearly 10:00.  An unexplained scowl appeared across his face and his answers were short and tight.

I tried asking him what was wrong but "Nothing" is all I received.  My shoulders stiffened and tears brimmed.  It would've been so easy to lash back, as his attitude was undeserved.  Instead, while slowly inhaling, I mentally forced myself to relax, pause, and hit reset.

Though I'd planned it for our last stop, I decided a trip to the food pantry was needed.  They were having a lunch fundraiser and filling our bellies before running errands seemed like a good plan.  As I prayed for our meal, the heavy emotions seemed to dissipate.  It's difficult to stay angry when you think about the families who will line up later tonight in need of food.

By the time our BBQ was gone, my boy's sparkle had returned.  We ran into the store, which I dreaded the day before a big holiday, to grab a few forgotten ingredients for new recipes we're trying.  I made it a point to smile at everyone I saw, because I know the my-feet-are-tired-and-I-still-have-so-much-to-do face.  Instead of it being a chore, the trip was pleasant and Noah and I shared lots of laughs.

Leaving the store, a lady on a mobile cart was stuck in the road.  Without hesitation, Noah curved toward her and bent down gently, "Can I help you ma'am."

Be still my momma-heart.  This boy.

He can put on a tough act but he is such a gentle giant.  When I see him willingly care for someone in need, just because, it is all I can do but squish kiss him right in the moment.

I contained myself and didn't gush over him but instead tucked it away.  My plan was to tell him later how proud I was.  However, it wasn't five minutes later he was amazing me again.

As we left the parking lot, my eye caught a man sitting on the curb, cardboard sign sharing his soul.  Noah rubbernecked as I drove past.

"Mom, he was sitting on a gas can.  He needs help."

God was already tugging at me so it took no effort to turn around.  And I barely pulled into park before he was out of the car, shaking the man's hand, sharing that beautiful smile, the love of Jesus pouring off of him.  With his own money, he filled the man's can and listened to his story.

Only 15 but such a servant's heart.

May I cling to those little nuggets in the days ahead. Thanksgiving is bittersweet for our family, as while we are thankful to be together, we're ever-mindful of the one who left us seven years ago this very weekend.

What a blessing it has been - and is - to have two sons with such sweet and giving spirits.

One who is smiling down on us and one who continues to fill me with joy each and every day.