my sen10r

Well, I've known this day was coming. For so many years, it has seemed so far away ... and yet ... what was far away is now the present and really can't believe it is true. My little Benny is now my 17 year-old Ben, and he is a ... senior.

Does Maylox come in 50-gallon drums?

Are you stinking kidding me? It's here? Why?
Wow, I guess you aren't ... and it is ... and because it's time.

I woke up at 4am to the sound of Mary in the bathroom wrestling to get her panties down for her middle-o'-the-night pit stop. She wanted some milk to drink and so I trudged down to the fridge to fill her sippy cup, because quite honestly, what is a pit stop without snacks? After the re-tuckage and re-kissage, I settled back in my own bedroom only to find that the Sandman had left the building. I tossed and turned and stared at the ceiling for a while. There was so much rolling through my mind and replaying - as if the back of my head were a drive-in movie screen. I thought about what today was going to represent for me - the milestones that were being piled up - and how far down the road I've traveled...

Benny and I were strapped in an old beige station wagon. Rick had gotten it at the car sale with his father and it filled a nice gap for us as a young couple ... however, it was one ugly ride. I can't even believe how horribly and violently bland that station wagon was. Anyway, I digress ...
We were strapped in and headed to First Presbyterian for Ben's first day of 2 year-old preschool. As we winded down the old farmhouse driveway and headed for the highway, Ben slid his little hand across the seat and took mine. I looked down into his huge blue eyes and in a very small, nervous voice he said, "Mommy, pray. Pray big." So I prayed big. Ben's biggest fear was that he was not completely potty trained and the requirement for preschool back then was no pull ups. He had to be in "big boy pants" ... and although he loved the cottony softness they afforded ... he did not completely trust his ability to keep them dry all morning. So, my little man was fretting and I was praying big and down the road we went.

This morning around 8am, my bedroom door opened and in walked my fully-grown and quite independent 17 year-old Ben. The years have turned him into everything I ever wanted for his life. Now mind you, he knows the areas he needs to work on ... and I could make a list ... but in all the things that really matter ... that really move my heart ...

Ben is.

We've walked some awesome roads together ... and we've weathered some pretty horrific storms together ... and as the years have passed, he's grown and stretched ... and thankfully gotten potty trained, too. :)
As he walked over to my bedside to tell me goodbye for the first day of his senior year, he leaned over to give me a smooch on the cheek. As he leaned back up, I said, "Hey, give me that face again." With a bit of an eye roll and a chuckle, he leaned over and I put my hands on each side of his face. I stared at him, for just that moment, and the face of the little Benny in the car on the way to his first day of 2 year-old preschool was blurred by whiskers, braces, and ohhhh, that infamous long hair. Ben had no idea the volume of thoughts that were rushing through my noggin as I stared at him. It was one of those times when I felt Rick's absence. One of those milestone days that I just hoped the Lord allowed Rick a peek at life down here - to see the milestone with me, if only for a second. I don't get those pangs often ... but I've expected them all along. It didn't make me sad as much as I just hoped he'd get a peek, you know? It was a big day.
As Ben smiled and stood back up, I got my glimpse. I knew if I held that face long enough, I'd see Benny in there somewhere ... and I did ... in the sparkle of his huge blue eyes.

He didn't need me so much this morning. He's growing up, up, and away ... as well he should be at this point in the game. I didn't need to strap him in a car seat or drive him to school. He didn't need my calm reassurance like he did so many years ago. I said, "Well, it's your senior year, son. Class of 2010 ... it's here! Are you nervous?" Ben looked back in the doorway and said, "Nah, I'm good. I'll call you when I get out, okay?"

And off he went.

As he started up his SUV and headed down they driveway with his music blaring and his energy stoked ... I was in my bed, and in my heart ...

I was praying big.

That, dear friends, will never change.

A Mother's Improv

I don't know how Sundays are for all of you people ... but for us ... they can be a downright free-for-all. Rarely does Sunday run like a well-oiled machine and it seems that no matter how much pre-prep I do ... there's always the frantic countdown to the car ride. We are part of a new church plant here in Asheboro and because we are occupying the chapel of an existing church, our weekly services are going to be in the evenings instead of the mornings. You would think this would be a clear advantage in my plight for greasy Sunday gearing ... but so far it's a no go. Yesterday was no exception.
I began with plenty of time to spare. I had to iron 3 outfits, pack Brad's overnight frog-backpack for an after church spend the night at Grandma's, get Brad and Mary dressed, get myself dressed, and yell at Ben to get dressed (multiple times) ... but even still, I was running ahead of schedule and feeling rather hopeful that this was to be the Sunday that came off without a hitch.

What was I thinking?

The finish line was in sight. Brad was dressed and packed for Grandma's, Ben was drying his hair, Mary was pressed and dressed in her perfectly matched hot pink and white leggings, skirt, and bleached white shirt with the pretty crocheted neckline. She even had hot pink and white pony-tail holders in her hair and she was the picture of 3 year-old cuteness. All that remained was for Mommy to get on her makeup and clothes and we were outta there.

I had just done the "lean in" to apply my mascara in the mirror - mouth open in that funny way we women open it when we're putting on eye makeup - and all the sudden ... from the bedroom ... I hear ... Mary ... yelling ...

"Ohhhhh nooooo!!!!"

I didn't even want to look. I know what those two words mean ... and for a mother, it's never good news. I walked out of the bathroom to discover that Mary had wandered back into her bedroom and found her half-melted cherry popcicle and when she tipped it up to bite it ... cherry ... red, red cherry juice poured out of the wrapper and found a trail all the way down the very front of her bleached white shirt with the pretty crocheted neckline. I felt a sob well up in my throat as my hopes to get to church on time dashed against the rocks of reality. I wondered if somewhere in a cold, dark grave that Murphy dude who wrote all the laws was chuckling at me. Seriously? Cherry red on a bleached white shirt?

Could a bigger fish swallow me, please?

I ran in the bathroom, grabbed a wet washcloth and started to wipe ... I mean, moms are preprogrammed in the womb to grab a wet washcloth and start wiping - no matter what the emergency. I'm not sure what I expected to happen ... maybe a Sunday miracle ... but I am pretty sure I am smart enough to know that a wet washcloth + red, red cherry popcicle = smear. However, my instincts gave me no choice. I grabbed, I wiped ... ahhhhh ... I discovered. Wet washcloth + red, red cherry popcicle = pink. Then a brilliant, yet temporarily insane thought exploded in my head. I looked at the clock, pondered it for all of 2.7 seconds, and said, "Mary, hand Mommy your popcicle."

Yes, I did it.

I took my fingers and began splashing red, red cherry popcicle all over Mary's bleached white shirt with the pretty crocheted neckline. Front, back, sleeves ... all of it. Mary was staring at me like I had two heads and a unicorn horn growing out of my forehead ... and I said, "Mary, Mommy is doing something grown-ups call improvising. It's when you take what you've got and you work with it. So, Mommy is working with it. Mommy is not saying that it is okay to put popcicle juice all over your clothes ... but we're out of time and Mommy does not have time to change your whole outfit. So, it will dry and you will smell glorious." Mary said, "Wow Mommy, this if fun!"

By the time my speech concluded, I had splashed and wiped the whole masterpiece down and Mary stood before me in the cutest pink tie-dyed shirt you've ever seen. She matched perfectly and went back to putting on my mascara. I am woman ...

Hear me roar.

I think I feel a devotion coming on ...