What Makes A Family

Max: For Thanksgiving, I want all the people I love to be here. You know, me, you, Dad, Gran and Mark. That's my family.

I've learned a lot about family lately. In particular, I've learned families can look lots of different ways and often it's a common bond that ties you with others that truly makes a family.

Today, the family that Max spoke of spent the day eating, talking, laughing and being thankful. Our common bond? Our love for Max and our love & respect for one another.

Divorce is never easy, even when it is amicable. It hurts, it can make you feel like a failure, it's scary. You worry about how it will affect your child, what people will say and you wonder if you have it in you to start over.

Since our divorce, Max's dad and I have kept our focus on Max--just like we did when we were married. We made sure he understood that our adult problems had nothing to do with him and that regardless of our marital status, he has mom & dad who love him and always put him first.

Holidays can often bring out the very worst in people, but not at our Thanksgiving. Today was about family and putting others first. As I looked around the table and saw the smile on Max's face, I thought about how happy he was to have the people he loves--his family-- together.

Will it be this way every year? That I can't answer but what I can say is that I am thankful for today.

Perfection & Politics

Max: I don't like all the voting commercials because they are mean. They all talk about how the other person did bad stuff and say don't vote for them. All the candidates do bad stuff, I bet.

Max—my sweet little old soul of a son— offers many wonderful observations on a regular basis but this one stopped me in my tracks. We were on our way home from Mass where we had just heard Father Rick talk about perfection. He explained that no one is perfect—we all make mistakes. Max and I smiled at each other on this one, because we both struggle with striving to be perfect. Father Rick also explained that those who choose to focus on the imperfections of others don’t ever come out on top.

The child to whom I have to repeat 14 times every morning to get dressed and brush his teeth truly does listen, maybe not to me but obviously to political commercials. Max took a wonderful message from Mass and related it to something that was on his mind. He’s 8 and is too young to vote but clearly isn’t too young to realize that pointing out what is wrong with others doesn't make you a winner.

I hope that never changes.

(Note: Max says wearing a mask based on a political figure does not imply endorsement for said political figure.)

My Inner Third Grader

It’s funny how something intended for elementary students can have just as much meaning to adults—and maybe even more.

At our recent school open house, Max’s teacher gave all parents an overview of what to expect in third grade—the types of things the class would accomplish, her goals for the year, expectations and more. One thing that jumped out at me was a list of character goals she will be working on with the students:

Persevere
Be Confident
Show Integrity
Be Kind
Forgive
Show Empathy
Be Honest
Be Patient

Max and I talked about these things and he told me the ones he felt like he needed to work on most (persevere, be confident, be patient). In turn, I shared with him the ones I needed to work on (forgive, be confident). Max said, “You’re an adult, Mom, and you know this stuff already.” True, but even adults forget and need to be reminded, I explained. I also told him that being an adult doesn’t always guarantee that you do everything right. Oh how I know that.

I typed the list and put it on our refrigerator for both of us to see. As we’re beginning the routine of a new school year, complete with homework and projects and lots of new challenges, we’ve referred to the list a few times—especially when Max gets frustrated that homework comes before Legos, Wii or the computer. And especially when he needs that extra push to do something that doesn’t come easy.

And for me, I looked right at the list when the dog—for the 10th time—broke into the pantry and ate 10 packages of pretzels (patience) and when a family member did something that really hurt me (forgive) and realized that even as an adult, you can learn a lot from third grade.

To Save or Not to Save

Lately I have been in a cleaning/organizing mood. This hits me every so often and I actually enjoy it. It makes me feel in control (which I love) and less scattered.

With my recent organizational frenzy, I have discovered 5-6, OK maybe 7 plastic tubs with collections of papers, artwork, scribbles, handprints “What we did today” sheets from preschool, kindergarten work, second grade work, letters and much more. I have one child. Seriously….when did I become a pack rat?

Actually, I am just sentimental. Max’s first time to scribble with a marker? I must save it! A Thanksgiving placemat with his handprint from preschool? I’ve got it. His first construction paper valentine? It’s in there. And the cute drawing above? I will show it to him the first time he says he hates me.

Before long, 7 plastic tubs will be 10, then 12 and then an entire room of plastic boxes and papers. YIKES! So how do I decide what to save? My friend Stacy, mother of two, says she saves 20 – 30 things from each year—the things that are most meaningful or special. Another friend puts her children’s artwork on the walls of her garage. An article I read suggested taking photographs of pieces of artwork or items that might be too hard to save…like the cow head Max wore in a second grade play. But to me, the photos create yet another issue that falls in line with the guilt I have over the unfinished scrapbooks stacked in a closet. Rome wasn’t built in a day, my mother says, so organizing scrapbooks will have to wait.

Anyway, I watch some of the organize your home shows on TLC & HGTV and can completely get behind the mini-therapy sessions that occur with conversations like “It isn’t the things that matter, it is the memories” and “You don’t need paper (or trophies or doll collections or moose heads) to remember what a person meant to you.” I will need to remind myself of that as I sort through my boxes, a task I find a bit overwhelming.

My goal is to work on the boxes a little each week and finish before the end of September. Or October. Or maybe, I will just hold on to it all a little while longer. Isn't that what under the bed boxes are for?

(One more thing... I am now blogging for www.405moms.com, a site for Oklahoma City moms with lots of great resources, ideas, blogs and more. If you're a mom, or even if you're not, stop by and check it out.)

"You Know, Mom, Independence Means Freedom"

Max: Happy July 4th, Mom.

Me: Happy July 4th to you too, baby.

Max: So what are we going to do today?

Me: Well, I hope it the sun comes out so we can go to the pool. We could also go to our neighborhood parade.

Max: Would we have to change out of our pajamas? (My thoughts exactly. He is so my child.)

Me: Yes, I think we would. But the parade is fun.

Max: Do we always go?

Me: Yes, I can show you pictures of every year.

So I go to the computer and pull up 2002, where this sweet little photo was taken.

We scroll through photos and he reminds me of how young I was in 2002 (Gee, thanks Max) and asks why he was sleeping at the parade (because that is what babies do) and then remarks that he was also really young in 2002 because he didn't even have hair yet.

Then I asked him what he thought 4th of July means. "It means independence, Mom. You know, like freedom. And we can thank God and the soldiers for that."

Couldn't have said it better myself. Happy 4th, friends!

Father's Day: Pancakes, Golf and Learning to Cook

This picture was taken on Father's Day 2002. Max was 4 months old and with him is his Grandpa Doug.

Doug came into my life when I was 14. I was a typical teenager and all I really cared about was talking on the phone. And boys. And I was probably a little obnoxious. Doug was dating my mom and she really liked him. Eventually, they decided to get married. I wanted my mom to be happy and he made her happy so I was as supportive as a 14 year old could be. The night they got married Doug told me something I'll never forget: "I love your mother and I love you. I realize you have a father and I will not try to take his place. I will be your friend, earn your respect and support you in any way I can."

Over the years, Doug did everything from help me buy my first car to teach me to drive a stick shift. He taught me to play golf and how to play Keno in Vegas. He made the best pancakes, didn't yell when I brought home another stray animal and he helped load and unload the truck when I went to college. He applauded my achievements, worried I would never learn to cook and came to the rescue when a high school friend drove his car through a large plate glass window at our house. He saw me graduate from college, start my first job, inspected every car/apartment/condo and was there the night Max was born. But most of all, he kept his promise of supporting me. He absolutely earned my respect. And he loved me like his own.

Doug got sick in November 2002 and was given 6 months to live. I was crushed that Max would never know him. During that time, even when I wasn't sure he could hear me, I told him all the things he had done to impact my life. I promised I would make sure Max knew all about him and he would certainly know where his first fishing pole and golf clubs came from.

Today, I visited Doug at the cemetery. I visit often but always go on Father's Day. I took along someone special today, who occasionally says or does something that reminds me of Doug and makes me laugh out loud.

I miss Doug every day and often find myself thinking of things I would tell him if he were here, like the fact that I did learn to cook but I still stink at golf. If you're a step-dad or if you become one someday, never underestimate the impact you have.

Happy Father's Day, Doug!

Holding On & Letting Go

I'm willing to admit that I don't have much patience and what patience I do have has developed since I became a mother. And on occasion, I can be a little dramatic. Or a lot, depending on the day.

While Max has inherited many of my good qualities, he has also inherited my lack of patience and flair for drama.

We've had lots of discussions about using patience, especially as I am working with Max on riding his bike. I've made a deal with Max and yes, bribery may be involved: He needs to learn to ride his bike before he starts 3rd grade.

Max: But I might fall and hurt myself and bleed.

Me: You will fall, Max but you'll get right back up. I fell off my bike lots of times and we didn't even wear helmets.

Max: But this is so HARD and I just want to learn RIGHT NOW and have it be easy.

Me: Remember how we talked about that sometimes the best things aren't the ones that come easy? When you have to work at something you are more appreciative of what it takes to get there.

Max: Well, I am still scared of falling and I think I will just call my bike the vehicle of death! (See what I mean about the drama?)

As we rode around the driveway (slowly) and practiced starting and stopping, I remembered my yellow bike with the plastic basket covered in flowers and the day the training wheels came off. I was scared. And yes I fell. Lots. I told Max this story and while I'm not sure I convinced him that he really shouldn't be scared, I saw a glimmer of a smile each time he went a little further without me holding on.

Max: Promise you won't let go Mom. Not ever.

Mom: I won't let go yet, but soon you won't need me to hold on.

Funny how growing up and riding a bike have so many similarities.

The Perfect Mother's Day

Max: On Mother's Day, you don't have to do anything. Not even any hard stuff. Just what you want to do

Me: That's a great idea. What do you think I would like to do?

Max: You would first go on a run and then go to Starbucks. Then you would eat that omelette thing you like at Jimmy's Egg. I think after that you would go to the mall. You would try on lots of clothes at J Crew and you could take your time because when I am with you I tell you that I am bored. I would even give you $5 to buy that necklace you like. After that you would eat Mexican food because you really like it. I think that's it.

Me: Max, that sounds like a perfect day. How do you know all the things I like to do?

Max: I just do. I know you, Mom.

How lucky am I? Not because he wants me to have the perfect day but because I am Max's mom. No trip to J Crew could match laying in bed watching a video with my sweet boy, which is what we're doing right now. The mall can wait.

To my precious Mom, who taught me what being a mother is all about, I love you! And to all my mom friends who inspire and encourage me every day...Happy Mother's Day!

Advice for the 2nd Grade Substitute

Max: What does regret mean?

Me: It means that you're sorry you did something. (My curiousity is peaked at this point)

Max: Well, there is something I should tell you. My whole class had to write a letter to our substitute from Monday. Apparently, we talked a lot. And we didn't really listen to her. Though, I don't think it was me.

Me: Max, you talk when you don't have a substitute so I have no doubt you did your share.

Max: OK, I did.

Me: So what did your letter say?

Max: That I was sorry for all that stuff that I did. But you know what else I said in my letter?

Me: What else did you say? (Again, curiousity peaked)

Max: I told the sub the things she did wrong while she was in our class. If we had to talk about what we did wrong, she needed to know what she did too. And I told her. Like how she did the spelling words completely wrong. And other stuff.

Me: I'm not sure what to say about that, Max.

Max: Oh well, she just needed to know for the next time she substitutes.

Me: I bet she's very appreciative of your advice.

Max: Yeah, she probably is. I like to be helpful.

Where Were You That Day, Mom?

A few weeks ago, Max brought home his library book as he does every week. It was a children’s book about the Oklahoma City bombing.

“I know this was a bad thing that happened in Oklahoma City. And it is where Ms. Kari works and I just wanted to know more.”

We talked a little about what happened that day, where I was, where his dad was and how violence doesn’t solve anything.

Any of us who were in Oklahoma City 15 years ago today, or even those who weren’t, remember exactly what we were doing and how we felt. It seems like it all happened yesterday and it also seems like forever ago. Our city and so many lives were changed. Oklahomans showed strength, courage and resilience while the nation lifted us up as we began the healing process.

What now stands on the site of the Murrah Federal Building is a tribute to “those who were killed, those who survived and those changed forever.“ The Memorial & Museum help educate visitors about the impact of violence, inspire hope and healing and sharing and lessons learned by those affected. Max says he thinks he would like to visit there soon to learn more than what he read in his library book.

As he woke up this morning we talked about the day and I reminded him that it was 15 years ago today that the bombing happened. As I was packing lunch and his backpack he said “I set our DVR for the live coverage, Mom, because I want to watch it when I get home.”

We drove to school down Grand Boulevard and saw the banners hanging from the light poles, each with a name of someone who died 15 years ago today. A reminder to those of us who are running the Memorial Marathon on Sunday why we’re there.

“Mom, I know how when you run, you run your miles for different people, like me. But I think you should run some miles for the 168 people who died, too.”

You can count on it, Max.

Listening to the Savage Drummer

This is how my day started last Thursday morning at approximately 7:20 a.m.:

Max: I have a music program today at 2 p.m.

Me: No, I don’t think so. It is just practice.

Max: Mom, my program is today. I am a Savage Drummer. My shirt has feathers.

Me: I really don’t think it is today, but let me check.

So began my search of the school newsletter, website, then a text to my friend Margaret saying “ I think Max is confused…is there a program today?”

Return text from Margaret: Max is right, the program is at 2 p.m. today.

Me: AHHHHH!!!

While I knew there was a program coming up because I had sent the required costume elements, I had absolutely no idea it was Thursday. How did I miss it? I am diligent about reviewing the school newsletter, website, etc. but for some reason this one just slipped right on by. That happens, right?

Luckily my afternoon was open and I could attend the 1st & 2nd grade “Shipwreck” musical to see Max as a Savage Drummer. Mommy guilt diverted. Barely.

This made me think about listening…truly listening when your kid tells you something. I'm learning they're usually right on. But I assumed because I didn’t know about it, it meant it wasn’t happening. Not true. Max knew his program was at 2 p.m. and told me more than once. Apparently, he listened much better than I did.

“Max, you’re right. You do have a music program today. I’m sorry I didn’t listen to you,” I said.

“That’s OK, Mom. I understand. Even Moms forget to listen sometimes, but not very often, right?”

I can only hope.


(Photo: That's Duncan, Max's buddy & fellow Savage Drummer)

I Know Why You Run…

Max: I know why you run, Mom.

Me: Tell me why you think I run.

Max: Well, for your heart and stuff. And because you like to have coffee with the girls after.


Running…I’m addicted. It makes me more patient, clear-headed, empowered and healthy. And yes, I do love coffee with my running girls afterwards. (Don’t tell, sometimes we pretend that it takes a REALLY long time for coffee.)

Over the past two years, I have done the majority of my running—or training—early in the morning, long before anyone at my house is awake or even knows I’m gone. That’s good for someone with the occasional bout of Mommy Guilt.

But the girls and I have committed to the Oklahoma City Memorial Marathon (26.2 miles for goodness sake) on April 25, 2010. With that comes the addition of long runs…really long runs that can take hours even without coffee afterwards. It got me thinking about the balancing act of being a mom, daughter, friend, employee, volunteer, etc. and a runner. How can you fit it all in? If you’re like me—whether you have children or not—there are days you juggle it all very well and other days when it falls apart regardless of how well you plan. And those days when it falls apart, you may still need to get your miles in somehow.

I’ve asked Max a few times how he feels about my running and the time it takes. “Its fine, Mom,” he says. “Because I am proud of you and want you to win.” I love that. And it makes me want to keep running.

Running came into my life two years ago. Up until then, I walked the neighborhood and did yoga on occasion but there wasn’t really any sport or physical activity I was passionate about. I played a little tennis in high school and have attempted golf and I can honestly say I never in a million years imagined myself a runner. But I am. And I am passionate about it.

Max isn’t a competitive kid and sports really aren’t his thing right now. “I am good at other things,” he says. And he still gets physical activity in other ways, which is what is important. I’ve told Max how I really wasn’t into sports when I was younger and that it took me awhile to find my love of running. “Yes, you were older,” he tells me. Just like a kid to bring age into it.

Max knows why I run and is proud of me for it and I can’t help but think I am setting a good example, whether he ever finds his own love of running or not. What I really want is for him to find something—sports or otherwise—that he’s passionate about, even if it doesn’t come until he’s “older.”

"I Think Cats Go to Heaven, Don't You Mom?"

C.B.
1997- 2010

After purchasing our house, Rich and I made lots of trips to Home Depot for very important “house things.” On a Saturday night in July 1997, we decided to stop at City Bites for a sandwich before we made our weekly trek to Home Depot. Outside the door of City Bites sat a small grey cat who gave a loud meow as we walked up. I had to pet her, of course, and she rubbed on me and purred. We went inside and I asked the clerk if she knew anything about the cat outside the door. “Yes, we’ve been feeding her,” she said. “But some of the kids around here have been mean to her.” I have no tolerance for meanness to animals—AT ALL— and told Rich, “If she is still out there when we leave, she’s coming home with us.”

Of course, she was still sitting outside the restaurant when we left so I scooped her up and put her in the car. We cracked the windows as we went into Home Depot and when we came out we found her on the dashboard, lounging on her back in the sun. C.B. (City Bites) had found a home.

Of all the animals in our house, she was the lowest-maintenance. Quiet, loving and content to do what cats do all day…lay around. She had her quirks: she loved to drink water out of the sink and would come running when she heard you in the bathroom. C.B. also loved to have you aim the hair dryer at her and would stick her face right up to it. And she was partial to trying to sleep on your head or stalking a bowl of cereal like in the picture posted above. C.B. had an adventurous streak, too. Case in point: the Christmas Tree Incidents of 2002, 2003 and 2004.

Over the past week or so, I had the feeling she was sick. After a few days at the vet he felt like she was well enough to come home. She spent one last night with us and this morning, I knew she was dying. C.B. struggled to walk, but came in the bathroom for one last session with the blow dryer. I rubbed her head, told her how much I loved her and said goodbye. She went back to the vet and he told us there was nothing we could do but let her go.

Just as we found a home 13 years ago, C.B. found her home, too. What a blessing she has been to our family. I will miss you, sweet girl.

“I Can’t Believe What I’ve Been Missing!”

Something big occurred yesterday. Really big.

Max ate a cheeseburger.

OK, so that may not seem like a big deal to anyone but me. But trust me, it’s big. Huge.

First, let me say that food has never been a priority to Max. He’s always felt that eating interrupts the important things like Lego building or playing on the computer or doing other things critical to a kid.

Max was good about trying most foods and except for his first and only experience with peas, he was fairly agreeable. That changed at 2 when he began to turn his nose up at the things he always loved. After much discussion with the pediatrician (and my mother) it was explained to me that he wasn’t going to starve and that as long as he was eating fairly nutritious things—even over and over—he would be just fine but to keep trying to introduce new foods to him. And I did…dressing them up, making fun shapes, mixing pureed vegetables into mac & cheese (um, yes, he busted me fast on that one) and even making up songs/dances about just how good something would be. Not my finest moments but I tried everything.

For the past few years, his top/only items include fish sticks (Fisher Boy brand), chicken nuggets (Tyson), turkey and provolone sandwiches (Subway & City Bites), peanut butter (eaten with a spoon, not on bread) and sliced cheese (Kraft). Throw in Goldfish crackers, Cheerios, yogurt, milk, applesauce, mandarin oranges and milk and that is basically his list of approved foods. Oh, and anything chocolate.

“You just don’t know what you might be missing,” I would tell him. “I bet you would like this if you would just try—even one little bite.”

“But Mom, I don’t like that, I just know it.”

“How do you know unless you try, Max?”

“I just know, Mom, trust me.”

This has been a common conversation over the past few years. Almost daily.

But for whatever reason, last night at McDonald’s he decided to try a cheeseburger. And he loved it. Saying he had “NO IDEA what he had been missing all these years and it was SO GOOD.” Though next time, no pickles or mustard.

And while I am thrilled he’s added a new food to his approved list, in my mind the bigger accomplishment is that Max realized that unless you are open to new things and step out of what is comfortable or familiar, you never know what wonderful thing might be out there.

Not bad for me to remember either.

"The Only Bummer is Math..."

Max: “The life of a 2nd grader is great. You get to cut with knives and break some rules. The only bummer is math. “


Math…ugh. I have a long-standing hate-hate relationship with math. I was never good at it and it gave me a pit in my stomach when I had to do it. I remember many a night whining “I can’t do this” while laying across the kitchen table as my mother—a school teacher— quizzed me on multiplication tables. Don’t even get me started on long division. And in my brain, X can never equal Y. Ever.

I’ve tried very hard not to put my fear and loathing of math on to Max. But while we’ve sat at the kitchen table working on double-digit addition and subtraction (with regrouping) I’ve witnessed the draped-on-the-table, whiny, “I hate math” look my mother saw 30-something years ago. Proving as she has always said, “apples don’t fall far from the tree.”

So, how do I encourage Max to work hard at something that is necessary but he clearly doesn’t enjoy? I decided to share with him my struggles in math. I told him that I didn’t always think I was good at math and that I complained to my mom (a lot) when I had to do it. But then I explained why math is important and how I use it every day to do things at work and at home. I also told him how many of the things he’s interested in require math. I also admitted to him that if I had applied myself and whined less, I would have been better at math.

Thanks to a patient teacher, his godmother (who is also a 2nd grade teacher) and lots of hard work by Max, he is making great progress and couldn’t wipe the smile off his face when the certificate (pictured above) came home in his backpack.

The Tooth That Wouldn't Come Out

Max lost his first tooth in November 2007 during kindergarten. He pulled it out himself and was quite matter of fact about it. The rest came out easily—one was swallowed because it came out while he was eating a Subway sandwich—and yes, we had to discuss how it would leave his body.

But then, there’s the tooth that wouldn’t come out. It has been loose forever. Really, really loose for what seems like a year.

“Max, that tooth is so loose, you can just pull it out.” I told him.

“But Mom, (in his best drama-filled voice) it will HURT and it will BLEED and I AM SCARED.”

“How about biting into an apple, that will help it come out,” I suggested.

“Duh, Mom, I don’t like apples, only applesauce and I doubt it will come out eating applesauce.”

True.

Max had a dentist appointment in December and after the examination Dr. Guthrie explained that he and Max discussed in great detail how the tooth really needed to come out and Max assured him that he would take care of it immediately.

Umm, right.

Fast forward to now. Yes, I have reminded, asked, begged, offered, and still, the tooth is there.

Tonight, as I watched him wiggling it with his tongue and making a weird noise, I decided it was ultimatum time.

“OK, Max here’s the deal. The tooth has got to come out. Either you pull it or I am.”

“Mom, no, let’s talk about it. I really want to talk about it.”

This is his number one stall tactic…talking about it. Which consists of his stellar negotiation skills that will serve him well someday in the real world. Just not now or with me.

“There is nothing to talk about. The tooth is hanging. You have another tooth trying to come in and the baby tooth is in the way. What’s your decision, you or me?”

There was fretting, stalling and finally, he sat down on my lap and said, “OK Mom, let’s do this.”

So before he could change his mind, I reached in and without much effort, the tooth was out.

“WOO HOO AWESOME, that didn’t even HURT and I don’t feel any BLOOD and now it is OUT and the Tooth Fairy can come. Thanks Mom, you are the BEST!” And then, he high-fived me.

After he inspected the tooth and grinned at himself in the mirror, we tucked the tooth in the pocket of the Tooth Fairy pillow and put it on the end of the bed.

“Mom, I’m kinda going to miss that little baby tooth that I wiggled all the time and made that cool noise,” he said. “Oh, well it was time 'cause it has been loose forever."

Exactly.

"I'm Bill Clinton..."

The big day has arrived. The Christ the King Catholic School 2nd Grade President’s Day Program. I’d like to say Max bounded out of bed, pumped for the program and ready to put on his costume but that would be stretching the truth. A lot.

As Max opened his eyes this morning he said, “Mom, I’m scared. There will be lots of people at the program and that makes me nervous.” As we talked more, I explained that he couldn’t let fear keep him from doing things he needs to do, or wants to do for that matter. I told him he would be the best 2nd grade Bill Clinton in the history of the world and that I had 100 percent faith that he would be fabulous. But that in order to be fabulous, he had to get dressed.

Max’s costume consisted of his dad’s shirt, jacket and tie, a circa-1992 F.O.B (Friend of Bill) button courtesy of my friend Christi, and a Bill Clinton-style wig. The last one on the rack at Party Galaxy. I’m certain that was a sign.

“I am not so sure about this wig, Mom. It is itchy.”

“You won’t have to wear it for long and it is perfect, you look just like Bill.”

As he adjusted his wig and looked at himself in the mirror he said, “I think when I do my speech, I will pull my glasses down on my nose because Bill does that when he makes speeches.”

Clearly, Max had studied Bill.

Before he left I reminded him again that he would be great and I would see him at school. “We go in presidential order, Mom, so I will be number 42.”

The kids filed in and sat in their assigned spots. I saw Max craning his neck to find me. He spotted me and smiled. I gave him the thumbs-up and he grinned.

After stunning performances by George, Jefferson and Abe, FDR, Dwight, JFK, Ronald Reagan, George H.W. Bush and all the others, it was time for Bill. Max read his speech, sharing that Bill was born in Hope, Arkansas, was a lawyer before he was president, signed the North American Free Trade Agreement and that he is allergic to Chelsea’s cat, Socks. And then he smiled and stepped down. I could see the relief on his face.

As he spoke, I think my heart was probably beating as fast as Max’s, not because I didn’t have faith, but that is just what happens when a mom sees her child stand up and do something that scares them. As he took his seat, he looked at me and smiled and gave me the thumbs-up.

After congratulatory hugs, pictures and cookies, it was time for 2nd grade to resume and parents to leave. I hugged him and said goodbye. He said, “I did pretty good, Mom.”

No, Max, you were fabulous.

President's Day: The Second Grade Version

Max: We’re having a President’s Day program and I have to choose a president to research. I have to give Mrs. Phoenix my top three.

Me: Who are your top three?

Max: Bill Clinton, Ronald Reagan and George W. Bush

Me: What made you choose them?

Max: Well, Bill Clinton was a guest on the PBS show “Arthur” and I liked that show when I was a kid. Ronald Reagan…well, he’s dead and I thought I should have one on my list who is dead. And George W. Bush, well, I think he might be cool. Or at least kind of cool. But I don’t think everyone thinks so.

Max was given Bill Clinton to research and apparently, was the only kid in second grade who requested Bill Clinton. Parents were told that all research must be done at school because there are things about certain presidents (Bill Clinton) that kids can find on the Internet so at school they can be sure only second grade appropriate information is available.

He's worked hard on his report the past few weeks and has shared lots of interesting facts with me: "Mom, Did you know Bill was impeached by Congress?" (Yes, he is now fondly referring to him as Bill.) On Tuesday at the Christ the King Second Grade President’s Day Program, Max will dress up like Bill and present his report. I asked Max how he should dress and was told that Bill "always wears suits with white shirts." So now I am frantically working on a costume. Stay tuned…photos will be posted on Tuesday.

Becoming a Big Kid

Max: Just so you know, I'm a big kid now because I am upstairs and because I have my own desk with my own stuff in it. And Mom, because I am in 2nd grade there are some little kid things I won't like anymore. Don't be sad, you have the memories.


This is what Max imparted to me on the first day of second grade. Being upstairs is clearly a big deal at Christ the King School, along with having your OWN desk with STUFF. But what I love most is that he worried I would be sad as I saw him walk up the stairs. He was right, I was a little sad. Upstairs was a big deal for me, too.

As I watched him haul his backpack up the stairs, walk to his classroom and find his desk, it seemed like yesterday that his tiny little body was laying in an incubator in the Mercy Hospital NICU...all 3.5 pounds of him. At that moment, when all I wanted to do was hold him, the thought of him bounding up the stairs to a second grade classroom might as well have been 40 years away. Yes, I knew he would eventually do that and much more but at that moment it was hard for me to imagine. I wanted to think of my baby as a second grader but the day to day hurdles were consuming me. I prayed every day for him to reach milestones so he could come home. And five weeks after he was born, he did come home. That was 8 years ago.

The memories of those difficult days of taking one step forward and two steps back can still come rushing at me when I least expect it. Especially on his birthday, which just so happens to be today.

Happy 8th birthday, my sweet boy. You have blessed my life in more ways that I could ever have imagined. Your insight and humor amaze me every day. There are wonderful things ahead for you, Max, I just know it.