He delicately unwrapped the package, eyes wide with hopeful anticipation. When he reached the end of the wrapping, he found another color paper spun tightly around the treasure.
And another.
And another.
Until finally…
He thrust his hand up in the air, triumphant. “Yes! This is the best birthday of my life!”
He turned twelve and we gave him a phone. He has his own phone number, a case, and the capability to text emojis. Basically, we made his entire life in one short night.
It was never our intention to give him an iPhone. It felt frivolous to do such a thing. An iPhone at 12?!
I DIDN’T GET AN iPHONE UNTIL I TURNED 35.
But we had an upgrade, and we had this working phone, and it actually made more sense to give him an old phone than to purchase a new one. But we don’t take the responsibility that comes with owning an iPhone lightly, nor do we expect him to fully understand the power, both good and bad, of the much coveted device.
And so we sat him down at the table, and we slid a paper across to him. There was a copy for him, and a copy for us, and we all read it together.
We read through the contract and talked with him about WHY. Why would we take the time to set these rules, and what were our expectations?
We made it clear that we’re giving him this phone because we trust him to have it. He’s twelve, and he’s old enough to begin handling more responsibility. But we would be foolish to just throw him a tiny computer without giving him some direction on how to use it.
After discussing the terms, and the agreed upon consequences if any term is broken, we all signed the bottom of the paper. This contract is active for one year. Next year, when he turns thirteen, we’ll reevaluate the contract with input from him. What worked? What no longer seems fair? We’ll give him a say, but we will have ultimate Veto Power.
Because we’re the parents.
My job as Sloan’s mom is to prepare him for the world, and the world he’s growing up in is a digital one. He has access to things I never did as a young kid, and a lot of that is good.
But there’s evil lurking in the wings.
Studies show that the percentage of young children being exposed, and becoming addicted, to pornography is on the rise. By age 18, it’s estimated that 93% of boys will have been exposed to pornography. And that’s a conservative estimate.
Between ages 12 and 13, 22% of boys are estimated to have been inadvertently exposed to pornography.
A smart phone in the hands of an adolescent is something to be watched carefully, because even if they aren’t looking for the danger, sometimes the danger finds them. An innocent YouTube video ends, and a graphic ones appears in the list. An ad pops up, which leads to a website and suddenly the a path is made available that can lead to devastating results.
There’s more than just danger to be wary of, though. We want our children to see that, although there’s benefit to having an electronic device, there’s much more benefit to living life in the present. Having a phone at arm’s reach is a temptation. Even I have to fight against constantly checking my phone.
It’s for this reason that we’ll wait another year before letting him jump into social media. There’s no reason to introduce the responsibility of a phone AND social media all at once. Because social media use will come with it’s own contract. Things like:
I will enjoy social media as a side pleasure. I will not live my entire life there.
I will never post something that could embarrass myself, my parents, my siblings, my friends, or anyone else I meet.
I will not get into arguments with strangers online. Life is too short.
I will be wise in how often I post, and what I post.
These are just a few of the things that we will be discussing with him over the next year as we prepare him for the responsibility of social media. But there’s no need to dive into those things now. Because for now, he still gets to be a kid, albeit a big kid. He still gets to enjoy the pleasure of real life, face to face interactions without having to learn the delicate art of online relationships.
[Tweet “In this digital age of fast paced living, children must learn the intricacies of the online world. “]
This is a huge responsibility for us as parents, and it’s not something we should take lightly. We’re the first generation to deal with raising such digital kids. No one else has done this before us.
So we’ll do the best we can to wade into these waters with our kids, one step at a time.
What about you? How are you helping your young children navigate these waters of digital living?
His voice drifted from one room to the next, clear and sweet, piercing my heart with one of those melty motherhood warm-fuzzies.
“Amazing grace, how sweet the sound…”
The sound was sweet, indeed. Annika got shots yesterday, which threw everything off. Naps were later, meals were sporadic, and there was a lot of crying. It was finally bedtime, and I was exhausted, having dragged myself from bed yesterday morning just before 5:00.
“I’ll try to calm her down if you want, Mom,” he said. I agreed. I didn’t think it would work, honestly. I figured she’d just keep fussing until he had to hand her off to me, but I was grateful for his willingness to try.
Within 15 minutes, he had her sound asleep as he crooned in her ear.
“Was blind, but now I see.”
He walked into the kitchen and threw his arms in the air, triumphant. “She fell asleep on my chest!” he exclaimed. “It was so cute!”
She slept threw the night last night for the first time in months. Coincidence? Maybe. But I informed Sloan this morning that he officially has the job of Bedtime Master for his baby sister. He thought I was joking.
I’m totally not joking.
Yesterday I did a lot of things. Lots of mom-things, and writer things, and a few lazy things, and most of them were good things.
There was one thing, though, that I didn’t do enough of. Today I want to do more of this thing, because today is my only chance. Today I want to hug my big boy – the first one to call me mom. Today is the last day he will be eleven.
Tomorrow we’ll wake up to a twelve year old. A dozen years ago, I held him for the first time. It feels like a blur. I have one more year until I become the mother of a teenager.
A TEENAGER!
I don’t even know how to feel about that. On the one hand NO! NONONONONONONONO! NO! I’m too young to be the mother of an almost teenager.
On the other hand, “YES PLEASE!”
Sloan has become a lot of fun to parent in the last year. The thing about that big loving first born of mine is he’s always kept us on our toes. He’s gregarious and precocious, and loves arguing like I love eating Nutella.
But the past six months have brought a new change. He’s maturing, calming down a little, gaining the perspective of a bigger kid, and his patience is slowly lengthening. It’s really delightful watching him mature into a young man. I genuinely love watching him get older.
As much as the idea of being the mother of a teenager freaks me out, I also cannot wait for these teen years. People always make it seem like they’re something to be feared, but I think they’re to be celebrated.
With each passing year, this boy of mine becomes more independent. Now, instead of just telling him what to do, we get to have deeper conversations about why he should do the right thing. And he gets it.
He’s smart and kind, a huge servant, and he loves his baby sister in such a unique and special way. A few weeks ago he asked me if she could come live with him when he’s all grown up and out of the house. The idea of leaving her brings him some fear, and I’m fine with that.
Photo by Avodah Images
Maybe he’ll stay close to home after graduation.
Or maybe he won’t. I don’t know, really. All I know is that today, I still have an eleven year old. And I’m truly delighted to be that kid’s mom.
This picture was taken three years ago…when he was still shorter than me.
I’m also delighted that he’s so good at putting his sister to bed.
I haven’t been able to blog, to work on the book, or to make edits on another project. We’ve been on vacation, and I purposed this year to be fully engaged in that vacation. In the past, I’ve always pulled away to blog, feeling as though I had to keep the ball rolling so as not to lose momentum.
This year, I had to stop.
Babies change things. Having another baby makes it harder to pull away and work. I’m obviously okay with this, because have you seen how desperately cute that baby is?!
But I needed to make it a plan in my head that I wouldn’t steal time from my family to write words that may or may not be read. I needed to be present, fully, and I was. And it was awesome.
But today it’s time to get back in the swing of things.
Photo Courtesy of Tammy Labuda. TammyLabudaPhotography.com
Tonight, two of my creative besties will land in Florida. They’ll make their way across the country from California, and land on the hot tarmac here in Tampa. Tomorrow, the other three will join them, and the six of us will spend the rest of the week cheering one another on as we press toward our individual goals.
We’ll work on books, on photography, on lesson plans for the coming year. And we will do what we’ve always done best. Encourage one another.
Photo Courtesy of Tammy Labuda. TammyLabudaPhotography.com
This will be our 5th Annual Creative Retreat, and it will be different this year. We’re on a different coast, and we’re all in different places in our lives. Time will be spent less on creating the perfect meal, and more on the projects that beg for our time.
Tammy doing her thang at our 3rd Annual Retreat.
There’s been a lot of stress leading up to this year’s retreat. Coming in from vacation the day before you’re hosting such an event is not something that I would generally recommend. And it’s the first year my mom hasn’t been around to help with the kids, so a sitter is coming to the rescue.
We work at these retreats, yes. But we also rest, and rest is imperative for the creative soul.
All these things beg for my attention, threatening to steal the joy I feel when I surround myself with these talented friends of mine, but just as I had to purpose not to work during vacation, this week I will purpose not to worry while away from my family.
[Tweet “Sometimes moms pull away from the art to focus on family. And sometimes it’s the other way around.”]
Photo courtesy of Tammy Labuda. TammyLabudaPhotography.com
The kids will survive a few days without me, and Lee assures me he’s got this handled. Despite the stresses inside his own job, he’s given me a wide blessing to chase after this dream I have of writing books.
So this morning, I’ll get the baby settled for a nap, and pray she takes a long one. Then I’ll head out to pick up groceries, and I’ll prepare myself to leave for a few days. To step away into my craft.
It’s amazing what we can accomplish when we’re willing to pull away for a few days. Even for a few hours. I pulled away from blogging for almost the entirety of our twelve day vacation, and I found that the quiet spaces actually provided me time to think.
Imagine that.
All the words I need to write began to simmer in those pulled back days, and they’re ready to tumble out. At least, I hope they are. I really hope they are.
And pulling away from my family for just a few days will offer a similar peace of mind so that when I return I’ll have less of the book hanging over my head, and I can focus more fully on them as we continue to enjoy our Summertime Agenda of Awesome.
[Tweet “Pulling away from life for a time leads to soul refreshing that cannot be duplicated.”]
I’m looking forward to the refreshment of simply diving into the work this week. And next week?
The baby’s cries pierced through the walls for the third night in a row. Just when we hit a stride in her sleeping patterns, she enters a new growth spurt and the nighttime feedings start again.
I’m weary. So weary.
I stumbled to her room and lifted her from her bed. Her warm, doughy cheek pressed into my neck, and the moment was everything I could hope it would be, except for the fact that it was two in the morning.
Yawning, I stuck the bottle in her waiting mouth and leaned my head back, mind running through the laundry list of things that needed to be done once the sun made her way high up into the sky.
So much.There’s so much to do. On any given day, I’m not sure how it is I manage to accomplish all the tasks in front of me. And for all that I manage to get done, it seems I forget half as much. I’m forever a step behind in life.
I stumbled back to bed and fell onto my pillow, and before I knew it the alarm jarred me, yet again, from my slumber. I had work to do, but first.
First.
I’m trying to dig into my Bible before I open my computer. I’m not always good at it. Some days, the pull of work is just too strong. But on this morning, I pulled out my Bible and started reading. I landed in Proverbs and flipped to Proverbs 31.
This passage of scripture both inspires and baffles me. How does she do it, this Proverbs 31 woman? I know that this wasn’t the picture of a single woman, but rather the composite of a woman. But still. I’m forever dropping the ball, and I don’t even have to sew my children’s clothes from woolen materials!
But on this morning it hit me. As I read through this passage for the hundredth (thousandth? millionth?) time, my mind wandered back to the Maasai women in Tanzania. I thought of the hut built by a woman’s hand, and the village of women who birth the babies and raise the children, kill and prepare the food. What strength they possessed.
Then my mind drifted to the stories of the German women who picked up shovels and rebuilt their cities after the war. And the women of America who entered the factories and kept the country running while our men fought.
I thought of the Ukrainian girls and women sent to slave labor camps, forced to build artillery for the enemy.
And then I thought of my own mom, faithfully raising and loving two children. I thought of her bringing in her sister’s kids because that’s what family does, even when it’s hard. I thought of the way she flew half way across the world to stay with my children for eight days so that I could have an adventure.
Photo by Tammy Labuda: TammyLabudaPhotography.com
And I read Proverbs 31 again with hot tears dripping from my eyes because it finally hit me.
Proverbs 31 isn’t the story of one woman, nor is it a composite of all the things I should be.
Proverbs 31 is the story of women – of womanhood. It is everything that we are, the collective whole of us. It is the strength that God knit into the very fiber of a woman’s heart.
This is the strength that carries a woman through back breaking labor, through childbirth and child rearing, through midnight feedings, never ending schedules, and days that stretch into nights with little or no opportunity to rest.
This is the strength that gets a mother through the year-long deployment of her soldier husband. It’s the strength that allows a woman to get up each morning and dig her heels into all that life has to offer – the good and the bad.
Proverbs 31 isn’t the unattainable goal of womanhood. Oh, no.
Proverbs 31 is a celebration of all that God has made us to be.
Sweet friend, are you weary tonight? Do you feel like you’re failing at every turn? Does life feel like it’s just a little too much?
Take heart, dear friend. He has knit into you a strength that cannot be explained. It can only be lived, one step, one day at a time.
You, dear woman, are stronger than you think.
“She is clothed with strength and dignity; she can laugh at the days to come.
She speaks with wisdom and faithful instruction is on her tongue.”
Lee is out of town for four days. That’s important to know before reading further.
It started at midnight on Saturday night (Sunday morning?) when Tia came into my room complaining of a headache and stomach ache. I gave her some medicine, then nestled her in bed with me, and while she slept I stared up at the ceiling fan, mind spinning.
She’s been complaining of headaches off and on for a week, coupled with a bloody nose now and then for good effect. By 1:00 am, I’d convinced myself that she was suffering from all manner of diseases, and I’d also run through the episode of Little House on the Prairie where Albert dies after a sudden onset of bloody noses.
I scooted closer to her to listen for steady rhythmic breathing, and I finally drifted into a fitful sleep around 2:00.
Annika woke me up at 5:30 ready to go. She was in no mood for more sleeping, so I finally resigned myself to a long day and dragged out of bed. I was leading worship at church, so I needed to have everyone ready and out the door by 7:45 anyway.
I showered, but didn’t wash my hair because who has time for that, while they watched TV. Because it’s easier to let them watch TV than to ask them to be productive.
After a bit of shoo-ing, and insistent hand clapping, I managed to get everyone into the car, dressed and semi-put together. We were half way out of the neighborhood when Landon spoke.
“Mom, I’m hungry. I didn’t get breakfast.”
I cracked open a box of donuts at church and shoved one in his mouth…and my own because I didn’t get breakfast either. I let Annika take a bite of my donut because she stared at it so intensely I couldn’t say no. Did that donut contain peanuts?
No idea. Maybe? She survived, so we’re good.
I asked Tia if her head still hurt and she said no, so I’m glad I lost a night of sleep over my unfounded fears.
DARN YOU, LITTLE HOUSE ON THE PRAIRIE!
I put my nine and seven year olds in charge of watching their sister while I practiced for that morning’s service, and I left my eleven year old in the church kitchen alone to work with scalding hot liquid as he prepared the pots of coffee that would be waiting for everyone when they arrived.
Minutes before church started, Landon leaned over to show me one of his teeth twisted around and stuck in a stomach wrenching position.
“Can I go pull it?” he staged whispered. I nodded, and I sent Tia to the bathroom with him to help. Together they worked the tooth out in the church bathroom, and he returned to the sanctuary with it in a little baggie. Then he spent the next ten minutes dabbing the hole in his mouth with his finger and showing me the blood.
Jesus be near.
After church, we came home and as I set Annika on the floor I caught sight of a lizard scurrying across our floor. He’s been hiding in the house for days, but he’s an elusive little bugger. Also, he’s not so much a lizard as he is a small, black dragon. He somehow manages to disappear every time we go hunting for him.
I feel semi-certain that he is hiding inside one of our chairs, but I try not to think about it for very long, otherwise I start imagining him creeping up behind me while I watch TV and karate chopping my neck, knocking me unconscious, then taking over the house and inviting in all his Rambo lizard friends.
Clearly I need more sleep.
The kids spent the afternoon in the pool, and I forgot to put sunscreen on them, so they got sunburned.
Landon asked to play the game of LIFE with me while his brother and sister played at friends houses. I obliged, and despite actually trying to lose, I still managed to beat him by about $250,000. (If you know Landon, you’ll understand why sometimes it’s easier to just let him win rather than deal with the consequences of him losing). He cried, and I sighed.
And while we played, Annika managed to find a stray piece of paper on the floor, which she ate a portion of before I discovered her and dug it out of her mouth.
I fed them leftover meat and stale chips for dinner, and at 6:00 realized Annika hadn’t had any solid food all day. Sundays are hard, and schedules are off, so she’d only had bottles. No wonder she was watching us eat like a rabid Velociraptor.
I put them all to bed dirty, and just as I turned out their lights a thunderstorm rolled in, and everyone came tearing out, eyes wide, full of fear, because my first born has conditioned the other two to believe that any cloud that produces lightening is a funnel cloud.
I promised them that if any of the clouds started spinning, I would retrieve them from their beds and we’d take shelter in my closet. Then I sent them back to their bed despite their tears and protests. Meanwhile Annika screamed in her crib because she took such a long, late afternoon nap that she was absolutely not tired at 7:30. I put her to bed anyway, because I was tired at 7:30.
Finally, blissfully, they all fell asleep. By 10:00, it was silent in my house. I fell into bed, and let slumber wash over me. While I slept, I dreamt I was on a Merry-Go-Round that started spinning uncontrollably while a woman with a raspy voice barked instructions repeatedly over the loudspeaker in German.
I interpreted her yelling to mean I should hold on tight.
When I woke up I was clutching my pillow, clenching my jaw, and the room was spinning.
Ten hours and fifteen minutes after taking off from Munich, the plane finally began it’s approach into the Atlanta airport. I couldn’t even really feel excited over the sheer exhaustion of it all.
Ten hours is a long time.
I’d finished writing a chapter in my book, written the beginnings of a short story, read for quite a bit, and watched three movies, because somehow zoning out to the tiny television screen felt the least like trying to slog through quick sand.
Sandwiched between my husband and a very kind young German man, I’d shifted and squirmed through most of the flight, because I can find neither comfort nor sleep on an airplane. It’s a terrible curse to not be able to drift to sleep in any position but fully prone.
One of the movies I watched had a bit of suspense to it, and at one point, when a shark leapt out of the water and almost bit the main character’s head off, I yelped and accidentally grabbed the arm of the kind, young German man. Lee fell over into the aisle laughing while this poor fellow confirmed his suspicions that I was a crazy American. I tried apologizing, and he smiled politely, then shifted as far away from me as he possibly could.
Bless him.
As we made our way down, the runway in our sights, I offered Lee a small smile. “Almost there,” I said, and he nodded in return, equally numb.
We raced toward the ground, waiting for the wheels to touch down on American soil, and then WHAMO!
It was one of the roughest landings I’ve ever experienced in an airplane. I suspect the pilot had his own feelings of numbness to contend with, and perhaps he got tired of the slow descent and decided to just throw that sucker down and be done with it.
As the plane shuddered and bounced under the weight of a quick landing, I gripped the armrest. I almost grabbed my new German friend’s hand, but I noticed he had tucked his hands under his legs in self defense. Poor fellow.
A few minutes later, the plane rolled to a stop, and my grip loosened as I realized we’d made it safe and sound. The plane didn’t barrel roll into the gate like it seemed it would in those first few moments after slamming to the ground. We had arrived. We were home.
I didn’t realize our landing would be a metaphor for reentry into every day life.
It’s amazing how a getaway can revive a person. Last week away was fabulous from start to finish. I loved every minute of it, and if I’m going to be completely honest, I didn’t really miss the kids until the day it was time to go home. I simply relished in the freedom of kidless-ness. There were many moments when I wished that the kids were with me. Each time I explored a castle, I wished I could share the experience with them, because I knew they’d love it.
But I never once wished I was back home.
When we finally landed in Tampa, though, Lee and I were beyond ready to get home and see the children. This was our slow descent. It felt like it took forever for our wheels to hit the ground, but finally we were there, and the return hugs and snuggles we got were worth every minute away.
The first night was sweet and fun as we shared our trip with them, and they shared their week with us. My mom not only survived, but she did a slam bang job of holding the house together in the process. She deserves a few extra jewels in her heavenly crown for last week, for sure.
We went to bed that first night, and slept soundly, then woke up and WHAMO! No more slow descent. Arguments, homework, notes from teachers and homeroom moms listing out 8,462 things that needed to be done before the last day of school, soccer try outs, practices, and incidents that occurred while we were gone that needed to be addressed.
It’s like we fell out of the sky and slammed back into real life, and last night Lee caught my eye after we finally managed to get them all in bed. His wide eyes matched mine, and we sort of just stared at one another for a long minute before starting to laugh.
“I guess there’s no easing back into this, right?” I asked. Lee shook his head and raised his glass to me.
“To Germany!” he cried.
To Germany, indeed. I write this now after a restless night with a kid who had nightmares and ended up in our bed…on top of me for the the most part. The same kid woke up with a gushing bloody nose that I got to deal with before a sip of coffee crossed my lips.
Welcome home, and thanks for dropping in, I thought to myself when I got them all on the bus, but there’s a grin behind the thought, because I wouldn’t orchestrate life any other way than this – crazy, and busy, and brimming with love.
