I Got Skills!

Napoleon Dynamite would be so proud! Last Friday was parents’ night for South Grand Prairie High School’s marching band. Jim & I, of course, attended because Eric was performing. (You can certainly tell where Eric is in the tuba line because of the sudden drop in height of one of the players. Yup, that would be him.) Eric called Friday afternoon and told me to make sure I was wearing comfortable shoes. Why? Because the parking lot was a lot further away than they expected so I should be prepared. Kind of odd, but okay. So we get to the stadium, parking where we usually park and stroll in to the stadium and take our seats on the bleachers. After the kids lined, all in their spaces with bright, shiny, sweaty faces, they performed a really short routine. Just a teaser for the upcoming games. The band director introduced all the board members, student teacher, flag corp, etc. And reminded us all of the ongoing fund raiser. You know – ward business kind of stuff. Then THE BIG ANNOUNCEMENT! “Parents, please raise your hand so that your student will know where you’re sitting.” I look to my right and neither one of his parents are raising their hands. Jim’s not raising his and neither was I just figured that he knew exactly where they were sitting and he was headed their way. That is until I spy Eric running across the field, looking straight at me, with the biggest grin on his face. Dunt, dunt, duuuuuuh! He was coming for me!!! Slowly he turned. Step by step. Inch by inch. Oh, wait. Wrong story. That would be Abbott & Costello, not Eric & Mimi. Sorry. So I met him at the edge of the field and he took me on to my spot. Right on the 40 yard line “cash mark”. I looked around and couldn’t see anybody ready to offer but then he explained it was actually “hash mark”. Oh. Big difference. He very quickly ran me through the two sets (24 and 25 if anyone’s interested) that I was supposed to learn in 5 minutes. Sure seemed like a lot less. I asked him to slow down, show me how to do the moves, but he told me (with an even bigger grin) that he wasn’t allowed to do that. Just talk me through it. Great. So I learned how to stand, where to find my mark, how to hold my arms and hands in place (EYE LEVEL, MIMI!), and how to take (mother, may I?) 9 steps backwards. Not big ones. Sort of ¾ size ones. Not on the balls of my feet but more on the middle of my feet. Huh? About the time I was sorta kinda almost got it, the band director called for all kids to leave the field. Whaaaaaaat? The drum line started doing their thing to give us a beat to move to. I found out where Eric was standing (his smile was now at the excessive wattage point and he could have lit up all of South GP with that grin) and mouthed to him that was SOOOOOO grounded. I actually tried the moves. Held my hands at eye level, arms held high, bingo arms flying in the wind, shuffled my feet, moved to the left, took a couple of steps backwards. Ta da! My proudest move? That I didn’t fall down. Or pass out. Eric was kind enough to escort me back off the field, laughing all the way. He was so danged proud of himself and how he pulled one over on his Mimi. But that’s okay. I know where he sleeps. Oh, and before I climbed back up the bleachers I did the classic raising my arms over my head and gave everyone the classic victory pose. The one that most folks call the “horn” sign. I prefer the “I love you” sign – but with more oomph! Eric’s in trouble because he’s created a monster. SUPUH STAR!!!!

A Bad Meltdown Does Not a Good Mother Make

The meltdown I had last night was not her fault. I walked in from work to be greeted by my darling husband with an invitation from our youngest adopted Gdaughter to visit with them for family home evening. Her big sister is leaving for BYU in a few days and this would be the last time that we'd get to spend with her before her trip. Of course when the littest one calls her Poppy, his heart melts and he always says yes. Me? Oh, glad to go, but I was really looking forward to changing into PJs, having a homecooked meal (by him - not me), plopping down in my chair and have critters run to my side in anxious anticipation because Mom was home. Nope. Not happening. So out the door we went. Oh, don't get me wrong. I was glad to go. But it was taking a while for my brain to shift gears. (A happy compromise might have been for me to go in my PJs but I don't think any of my boys would have appreciated it.) On the road - and the phone rings. Could we pick up one of the Gsons from his dad's house in Irving and take him to his mom's house in Hurst? Any other evening would have been fine. But we were going to south Arlington (past I-20). We live in south Irving. She lives in Hurst (NE corner of Tarrant County - Ft. Worth-I-love-yew country. Quite a haul. And a tank of gas. So bickering in my brain. My heart shrinking one size smaller a la Grinch. And I just lost it. Why couldn't she pick him up? Why do we have to be inconvenienced? Blah, blah, blah. The more I thought, the more frazzled I made myself. Things came to a head after we left early from FHE. I called my daughter and let loose on her. Which I never should have done. My foul mood was just oozing all over the place. With my older daughter when we left. And now on the phone with my younger daughter. Things are tough all over right now for our clan. Everybody's going through hard times right now. And that affected my mood, as well. (Our bank account is to the point that moths are starting to hover over the numbers. Not looking very fiscally swell right about now.) So I let the worries about using the gas, taking time away from one part of the family to take care of another part of the family, when I should have changed my heart's vision slightly to the right and change my attitude. The other family members would have understood if I had explained the situation to them. I wouldn't have transferred my ugly feelings & thoughts to my other daughter which put the damper on her fun for the evening. And I would have remembered that as a mother I have rare opportunities to continue to serve my children - as in "what would Jesus do". I wasn't a very good disciple last night. Not a good example to anyone. Especially not to my younger daughter. I made her cry. I hurt her heart. And caused her more stress - which she certainly doesn't need at this point. So today I get to make amends to both my kids. Apologies are needed all the way around. And get my head and my heart back where they're supposed to be. An apology and a fervent "I love you" will make me a better mother. And remember my calling as a "mother in Zion". At least I hope so.