Remembering Aprilia

Sometimes we can see changes as time passes. We see leaves change from green to gold as summer fades into fall. We watch as our little boy's favorite Batman suit becomes too short, and too tight, and too faded to wear. Sometimes we see time pass in a moment, like when we see that first toothless smile. Sometimes we see it pass in weeks, like when we finally feel our jeans loosen after giving up ice cream and sweet tea and other fun calories for a while. And sometimes we see it pass in months or years, like when we look back at pictures and realize that we had forgotten that our baby was once a fat baby, whose first word was "gogga" and would giggle as he sat on the large white dog he had just talked about. And sometimes, we change in ways that we can't see, or can't understand, or can't explain.

I've written many posts since my last one that made it to the blog over a year ago, but they are all unfinished. I've written about homeschooling, and loss, and happiness, and remodeling, but they are all in my drafts folder. When I started my blog, I loved the idea that I was only going to write what I wanted and when I wanted-no grades, no deadlines, no pressures-and although I still think this is my overall plan, I've realized that there are some posts that I may not want to write, but that I NEED to write. And there is one post that I need to write that has been keeping me from being able to finish the others.

I have realized that I can't write about what is going on in my family, when I have lost a part of my family. But the trouble is that there are no right words to talk about the loss of family, when that family is a pet. How do you put into words the loss of a relationship that was never built on words? And while Aprilia was never my baby, or my child, and I was never her mama, she was a friend who was a part of my everyday- who depended on me, and loved me, and understood me. And I miss her. And while her death was at a natural time for a dog, at an old age and due to a sickness that could not be treated, and while we were given time to enjoy her last days with her, it was still hard to say good bye. When I told Ryder that we had to take her to the vet because she was no longer able to walk or lie down or eat, I learned that there are times we have to teach our children that it's okay to be sad, and it's okay to cry, and there are hurts that can't be fixed with a  band aid and a kiss.  And I learned there are times, we have to believe those things ourselves, even when we are all grown up.

In December 2012, Cody was at a K9 training class for the week with his drug dog Rico (who we were to lose unexpectedly in January, but that's another story), and Ryder and I said goodbye to Aprilia. Aprilia was part of our family before we even became a family. She was a part of all the big times in our lives, marriage, and moving, and our firsts with Ryder, but more importantly, she was a part of the read a book on the couch, order pizza, and grade papers or rock a baby to sleep every day kind of things. When Cody and I were dating, we would take Aprilia to the pet store to pick out a toy, or to Fall Creek Falls for a hike. After our wedding, we went to our house to take a picture with her before we left for our honeymoon (and that's just because she wasn't actually in the wedding). After we were married, she kept me company many nights while Cody was working midnights in Nashville. She would go with me to the high school on the weekends and eat the gum from under the kids' desks while I worked. We had photo sessions with her for Ryder's baby shower thank you cards, for Christmas cards, for Halloween, and for no special reason at all. She would complain if she didn't have enough room to lay down in the car when we were traveling, or if her food bowl were empty, or if we didn't answer when she rang the bell to go outside. She chewed up Cody's paintballs and tore my (dying) hydrangea out of the ground, and when we talked to her about it, she would sit and turn her head like she was really listening to us. She was patient with a fat little baby that would crawl over her and then turn around to do it again or take her present away that she had unwrapped on Christmas morning. When Ryder learned to walk, we would let him hold her leash, so that he would keep moving ahead and not get distracted. She lived in three different houses with us, and we would bring her to play while we worked on the one we live in now. She never told us a story of her own, but she is a part of so many of ours.

If you've never had a pet that was part of your family, no words can explain the change that happens when that friend is lost. And if you've had a pet that was part of your family, well, you don't need words to explain that change because you know exactly what I'm talking about. I knew our family changed when we lost Aprilia. I could see that change when I had to send a Christmas card without her in it, or when I came home and I didn't hear the clicking of her nails on the floor. But I tried many time to write a post to explain that I had lost a friend, a part of my family, a part of many sweet memories, only to get started and realize I didn't have the right words to finish. Only now am I able to share a part of that loss that is sorrow and joy and peace because I realize that although we shed a few tears over the loss of our friend, we will continue to share many more smiles because of our time with her.

 And I am finally able to give an ending to the story of our pet-who-was-friend-and-family that shared so many stories, so many moments, and so many changes with us.

Love was a Black Door

There’s a sweet, tiny, little square house in the middle of a neighborhood of other similar tiny square houses that holds some of my most precious memories. It was a house not big enough to hold much else, but luckily memories aren’t the kind of things that have to be stored in closets or stacked in cabinets…or packed away when you move. Memories from these days are memories of beginnings. I loved my job as a high school English teacher, and my husband was beginning his work as a Nashville police officer, and we were newly married and living in our college town, responsible for only each other and our dog. I had no idea, then, how much those days were responsible for creating us as a family, welding us into a oneness as dresses and black tshirts all squished into tiny closets together, as we waited impatiently at the single bathroom door, as we meshed our lives together to transform his tiny college house into our home.

These were days of drop in friends, silly parties, spontaneous trips, and falling asleep on the couch while I waited on him to get home from work. We got married the day after Thanksgiving because his schedule would be even more unpredictable after graduating the police academy in December. Along the way, we learned to get used to him working crazy shifts with different days off, and we had to learn how to be patient and understanding with each other... which was sometimes accomplished by failing to be patient or understanding and then trying to do better.

And it was in one of these days that he painted the front door black. The architecture of the front of the house consisted of the front door and two windows. One of the windows had an arch over it, so it was our fancy window. The front door had been primed white, but never painted, and it really, REALLY needed painting. My idea was to paint it black to match the shutters, and to keep it from showing dirt so easily, and one day I came home from work to my sweet husband putting the final coat of black paint on our front door as a surprise to me. I was so, so happy that he was so, so thoughtful to spend his day off painting the door simply because he knew it was something I wanted. But I was also just a little dismayed that I came home just in time to see him putting the finishing strokes of black paint on the INSIDE of the front door. The outside looked great painted black, clean and welcoming and new. But the inside looked, well, pretty awful. The wall was taupe, the trim was white, and the black door was not just ugly, it was also scary. Every time I glanced toward the front wall, I had to swallow a small scream because it looked just like the door was wide open, and it was the deepest, darkest middle of the night (even if the fancy arched window clearly showed daytime sunshine streaming in.)

But the black door stayed the black door because was so pleased at his effort to surprise me that I certainly couldn’t tell him how awful I thought the black front door was. And every time I looked at the front door (after I convinced myself the door was closed), I knew that he painted that door black because HE loved ME, and I didn’t tell him how horrible it was because I loved HIM, and all that love would always make me smile... even if I had an ugly black front door.

I don’t know how many months I waited before I told him that I had never intended for the inside of the door to be black and how awful I thought it was, but it was long enough that we both laughed like crazy over it. And we laughed it every time one of us jumped up to close the door that was already closed and locked up for the night.

We never painted the door back white, and although I’m not usually very sentimental, I don’t think I would have wanted to, because in that tiny little square house with the fancy arched window, love was a black front door.

And now we live in a bigger house with more than one bathroom, and our friends call before they come over, and spontaneous trips include an extra fun little boy and extra fun times waiting for Ryder. But sometimes I long for those early days when we were becoming us, while we were living in that sweet, tiny house with the ugly black door. (But if you read this, Cody, love in our current house is most definitely a white front door. Maybe a white front door and a surprise date to eat Italian food. :)

(Picture taken in front of our black door at a Halloween party where our college friends dressed up and came to the house to eat together and hand out candy to our trick or treaters.)

Works Cited

In my previous life (dating back to pre-Ryder times), I was an English teacher. I have, therefore, written many, many, many citations for articles, books, websites. It has never been fun. I taught my kids how to write citations. It was never fun...and I like to think that I made not fun learning things fun....but not bibliographic entries. Even the word is no fun.

But I just for the very first time (in either lifetime) wrote a citation for an article in a magazine that I had written. And well...yeah...that was pretty fun. (I am also a big nerd, but I'm pretty sure after reading that last sentence you didn't need me to tell you this :) Sooooo, the citation wasn't really needed, and it was posted at the end of the article I just posted on my blog. (I'm not a big enough nerd to have written an entire paper just so that I could cite my own article...at least not yet, anyways!) But I looked up the format just to make sure that I hadn't forgotten it in the last four years of learning really important stuff....like which superheros fight with shields and which ones can fly, or how to pack a diaper bag without leaving something important out (not sure I ever actually learned that one, come to think of it :)

Thanks so much to all of you who have left kind comments on the blog and on my facebook page. I've loved writing for my blog where I have no due dates, no grades, and fun background changes, and where so many friends have taken the time to read and to comment on what I have written. I have really enjoyed writing for the fun of it, and although my posts aren't regular, I am determined to keep the blog fun...which means no stressing about it...even if I haven't posted in a very long time or have not a single post about a birthday. But I am grateful to have realized that I actually do like to write and to play with trying to use words to create an emotion or an image or a moment, and I think through all the writing I had to do for school, I had forgotten how to write just for the enjoyment of it.

I was so excited when Cody's mom called to say congratulations on being published. But I was also surprised. I had sent in a few articles to Think magazine a few weeks earlier, but I didn't realize that any of them would be published until she called saying she had seen my article in the magazine while visiting in Middle Tennessee. She didn't have time to read it, so she didn't know what it was about, and it was fun waiting for the subscription to come in, so we could all see what I had written about :) I am very grateful to Think magazine for allowing me the opportunity to write for them, and to see my words on thick, shiny magazine paper! Thank you all for the encouragement you've given me as a friend, a mom, and a writer.

I've posted the article below, along with the citation...you know, just in case you might be as big of a nerd as I am :)

***The picture in the post is of Ryder in his Batman costume. This picture is not in the magazine, and the picture of the kid in the cape in the magazine is not Ryder, but the picture they chose is pretty amazing :)

When Christian is a Given

To add to his eating noise, my four year old now has a thinking noise and a loving noise. The loving noise is in Spanish. He likes to wear a cape, his good guy bracelet, and carry a shield while he carries around Mannienewt (his imaginary squirrel) in his pocket. There are so many things I love about this boy, whose name is Batman for today, but one of my favorite things about him is that he is not afraid to be himself.

So when a friend asked on her facebook page, “What one trait would you love to instill in your child. Christian is a given,” I thought about my answer as I read the responses of other friends. I read so many wonderful qualities that thoughtful, precious parents desired to instill in their children. I read each one and agreed that being gracious, or a leader, or grateful, or kind, or sympathetic were certainly qualities that I wanted my son to grow in. In thinking about how much I loved my son’s individuality and how I hope he never loses that under pressures to fit in with others, I decided to type this for my answer. But I was hitting delete before I finished my sentence, because I realized that no one has ever been truer to Himself, His purpose, and His identity than Christ.

I realized then that I needed to renew my definition of a Christian. Yes, a Christian is one who has heard, believed, repented, confessed, been baptized, and tries to live a faithful life. Yes, a Christian should be at worship and be one who is religious. Yes, a Christian should be one who lives a moral life. But, somewhere along the way, I had forgotten that the word Christian means so much more. It means to be like Christ. And in being like Christ, I will have obeyed the commands to become a child of God; I will be honored to assemble to worship my Father, and I will strive to live a moral and upright life before God and man, but really, those are just the basics; the givens among a life much fuller and much more conscious of striving to be Christ-like.

If I am to be a Christian, I am to be thankful. Mark 14:23 tells us that Christ “took the cup, and when He had given thanks He gave it to them, and they all drank from it.” Christ gave thanks for the cup, for the fruit of the vine that was to be a remembrance of blood that he would shed in a cruel and violent death for an ungrateful humanity. If Christ gave thanks in this instance, to be Christ like, I should surely be taking more opportunities to be thankful for the many blessings in my life.

If I am to be a Christian, I should be gracious. Christ was gracious to so many as he went about teaching and healing those who were sick. He was gracious when he told the woman caught in adultery to “Go and sin no more” (John 8:10-12). He was gracious to the children and their parents who wanted to see Him, and he told his disciples to “let the little children come to me and do not forbid them” (Mark 10:13-15). He was gracious as he told a tax collector to come down from a tree, and he went to visit at his house-despite the objections of those who were supposed to be religious (Luke 19). Jesus took the time to respond to people who were in need of graciousness and mercy, and He changed their lives. Perhaps by taking the time to respond to people with graciousness, I can lead others to Christ, truly believing He can still change lives.

If I am to be a Christian, I am to be a leader. Christ took twelve apostles who were largely uneducated, poor, and ordinary, and taught them to change not only their lives, but the world in which they lived through the gospel. Christ taught that His followers are to be the light of the world and the salt of the earth (Matthew 5). If I am to be like Christ, it must be my mission to lead people to God.

And if I am to be a Christian, I must not change who I am in order to fit in with others. Others expected Christ to be born as royalty, to be a military leader, to set up an earthly kingdom. They certainly didn’t expect him to be born in a stable, converse with a Samaritan woman, and submit to a cruel death. Christ’s identity as the Son of God was steadfast in the face of temptation, betrayal, and death. If I am to be like Christ, I must know that I am created and loved by God for the person He made me to be, and not listen to the world’s attempts to have me fit in to any other expectations that are contrary to the will of God.

` I am thankful to my friend for her thoughtful question, and to the responses that prompted me to think so much more about what it means when being a Christian is a given. And since I have considered that being thankful, kind, sympathetic, gracious, humble, strong, a leader, a person who is unafraid to be Himself would all be present in one who is striving to be like Christ, I think my answer to my friend’s question would be something along the lines of hoping Batman learns to be a great cook who loves to clean the dishes.

Hinson, Kristy. "When Christian is a Given." Think June 2012: 24. Print.

Letting Go

Ryder climbed up the yellow wall on the playground. He stood gripping the top of the wall with one hand, the blue railing of the doorway with his other, and he was nudging his foot slowly over. He looked so big, way up high with his shiny shoes and his MTSU hoodie that he had dressed himself in for our February picnic and park day. Kids were laughing and running, and Ryder was silent and concentrating. In just a few moments, hands and feet came together, and he was running on the top level of the playgym, ready to slide down and start all over again.

He was oblivious to my fears below as I let him climb. I let him hold on with one hand while he reached for that bar with another. I watched as his tongue traced his lips in his concentrating pose. I wanted to tell him not to climb so high, not to let go with his hand, and most definitely to not stick his tongue out.... because every mother knows that is a sure way to bite your tongue completely off. But I didn't. I stood there silently, and I let him climb.

I stay at home with Ryder now, and we plan to homeschool when that comes...but no matter how much I am with him, I can't stop the process of being a mother learning to let go, and he is just three. I don't miss him being a little baby at all. I most definitely don't want to go back to those days of babbles and drools and me being his only means of locomotion. So much of my joy in him is learning who he is, and watching the boy, and eventually (very, very eventually :), the man he is on his way to becoming. But fighting that motherly urge to fix all his troubles and jump up every time he falls takes effort, and lots of it! And he is JUST THREE. His troubles usually revolve around an issue with sharing or with who is going to be Batman today, and while those are major to him, I know they are such small things compared to what he is going to face as he gets older. And there is a line, a tiny, almost invisible line that I am going to have to learn as a mother between letting him work things out on his own, and between keeping him safe and protected, and sweet and nice in a world that does not promote sweetness and niceness.

He is just three, and today he climbed all the way up the sunny yellow wall. And I watched silently...from my place directly beneath him, ready to catch him if he fell. (And I use catch loosely, because it would have more accurately been a softening of the fall, as both of us landed in a tangled heap on the ground). I hope I can always be standing beneath him, as I'm waiting for Ryder to grow and climb, even when one day, when he's older than three, and he's climbing out of my reach.

***Written in February 2011, but not posted.

Growing Up

I hold you in my lap now, and wonder how you ever fit curled up in my arms, with your long legs that reach to the floor, and slender arms that can squeeze the tightest hugs. After bathtime is the best with hair sticking up everywhere that smells of No More Tears shampoo, and a belly just starting to lose that toddler roundness, and wrinkly toes and a shiny clean face that I know will only last until the next jelly sandwich...if that long. And it takes extra long to comb your hair and brush your teeth and get on your pajamas because I am listening to you rattle off stories and questions and songs and happiness and right now, you still fit in my lap, head tucked underneath my chin, warm and cuddly, and full of warmth.

 And it's in these moments that I understand what parents mean when they say they don't want their kids to grow up. Because of course they want their kids to grow up, to learn and see and laugh and become. But I think maybe we mean that we don't want our kids to stop making up stories, and being proud that they picked up their toys without being asked. We don't want them to look in the sky and see clouds instead of dragons and trains and swords. I don't want him to look in the mirror and ever doubt that the person he sees is beautiful and wonderful and special and loved and created by God. I don't want him to stop giving me hugs and saying I love you and wanting to know who I think the bestest superhero ever is. I don't want you to realize that I don't have all the answers, and I can't fix all your problems, and that sometimes you will need more than a kiss and a band aid. Maybe what we really mean is that we want you to grow up; we just want you to do so without losing all of the child that you are now.


So while you are waiting for me to read your bedtime story, just know that I am treasuring these moments with you, and I am loving watching you grow and become the most amazing person I have ever met. And when I make you promise that you will never be too old to hug your momma, well, just count on it that I'm planning to hold you to that no matter how big you are. Because you may grow to be too big to sit in my lap one day, but your whole life will fit in my heart forever, and you will never outgrow that.

Mother

When I was a little girl, I thought that if I had a little boy one day that I would name him Cody or Colton. If I had a little girl, her name would be Madison, and she would probably go by Maddie. When I grew up, I knew that if I had children, I would want them to have a name that was sounded beautiful, different, uncommon....yet not strange. Then when Cody and I discovered that I was with child, I called that precious heartbeat Ella. When I found out that the precious heartbeat was a boy heartbeat, I made lists of names: Everett, Rylan, Landon, Colin, Ryder, Lance, Dylan, Emmet,... (Then Cody eliminated most of the names on the list because he once knew someone who had a cousin who named his dog the name in consideration...or something nearly as complicated). After many lists and eliminations, we finally decide that we are going to be Ryder Luke's parents, and Jonie has his name written in thread on every bag and blanket she can find before he even arrives. And then it turns out that all that fuss over Ryder's name didn't matter very much, because he gets a little older and decides his name is Batman, or Robin, or Master Yoda, or most often lately, Captain America...but those are all other stories.

And now Ryder has named me. We encouraged our parents to decide on their grandparent names, but I never thought about what my name would be. It turns out that it didn't matter so much about that, since Ryder has his own ideas about my name, too. When he was learning to talk, and he started saying "mama," I didn't care that he might have been referring to me or to Aprilia, or to Cody, or the wall, I was amazed to hear my child say MY name after months of saying , "Not Dada. Mama. Maaaa-maaa." And not too long after he started saying Mama, he started to say it in the sweetest sentences, like "Love you, Mama," or "Thank you, Mama." And as he grew, he has called me Mom and Mama and Mommy, and there are no words to equal how right it is to hear your son call for his mom.

But now, my very big boy four year old, has abandoned those early names, and has named me Mother. When he talks to me or about me, he calls me Mother...a name that I would have thought sounded formal and uncomfortable, a word too big for a child who still will say he liked-ed that psketti, who loves being tickled, and will sit with me to be rocked and read a story. But when Ryder calls me Mother, it doesn't sound too formal at all, and although I share this name with so many other women, it is MINE, and it is ME, and it is PERFECT. I may be daughter, and sister, granddaughter and aunt, friend and wife, but in all those relationships, I am still Kristy. But only to Ryder is my relationship and my name all rolled up into one complete word- filled with images of arm hugs and growing boy, scents of No More Tears shampoo and bedtime lavendar lotion, sounds of giggles and eating noises, tastes of sun grown strawberries and front porch watermelon, and feelings of pure and innocent love-Mother. And I know that all the mothers who have been named by their children, share the same sense of identity as they hear their own name...whether it is Mom, or Momma, Ma, or Mother...when it is uttered in the voice of her child, that name is only for her, a secret code of memories and moments meant for noone else in all the world.

And while I love being Ryder's mother, sometimes I long to escape for a few moments from being Mother, and to be just Kristy. But the older Ryder gets, the more I realize that I will never be just Kristy again, because during those moments when I am away from my son, I know that I will return to him, waiting for Ryder's hug, for his naming as he tells me "Mother! I missed you!" And then I will say, "I missed you, too, Ryder...or Batman...or Captain America...or...."

Where the Time Has Gone

On September 11th, it will be four years since we were in the hospital waitingforRyder to meet us all. And while the first year seemed that it would never end, these past few have passed so very quickly.

Where does the time go? ....But in this case, I know the answer to that:

To late nights and early mornings. To nursing and to first foods. To diaper changes and big boy underwear.To bedtime stories and to crackers and honey just before bed. To kissing hurt knees and sticky faces. To looking for Ws and to learning how to read. To playing with ToffeeToffeeYay! and to listening to Galbert (the stuffed llama) talk to us in his own voice. To Bible class and to making sure we have short hair so we won't get stuck in a tree. To play dough and cooking basanga. To baseball games and to many sword fights. To Santa Claus and to birthday cakes. To boat rides and to collecting chicken eggs. To visits to Granny's house to play with the ugly doll, to MaMaws house with the M&M cycle, and to Granny Bill's house to have crackers. To riding bikes and to sidewalk chalk Ws. To egg hunts with Camden and Carter to learning to share with Camden and Carter. To walks with Aprilia to commanding Rico to "Fooey." To answering many, many "Why"s and "What is..."s." To tickles and to wrestling and to hide and seek. To swimming and to climbing and to like sand. To prayers and to songs and to Bible verses. To becoming Batman, and RDtootieDtootie or to becoming Robin and Captain America. To horse shows and kayak watching. To visiting old friends and to making new friends. To rocking and to big boy beds. To pizza and to garden tomatoes. To the Portertown Gang and to practicing new manners. To arm hugs and to belly kisses. To reading books to a wiggly toddler in our laps to reading books to a wiggly big boy in our laps. To eating noises and to steeting (which is still a mystery to everyone but Ryder.) To dressing up and to making shields. To a most beautiful child who fills each day with fun and wonder. To new joys and to unexpected happinesses.

To childhood.

To waiting for Ryder.

And I am most blessed by where our time has gone.

Happy 4th birthday, Ryder!


(Bottom Photo: Ryder with his Captain America shield made by his Daddy. Photo by Skelton Photography.)

Mm-Mm Good!

I could easily convince myself that I'm the best cook ever. It wouldn't be hard. I would probably have to ignore that I generally burn the bread, that I rarely try new recipes, and that baby food got the same response that my gourmet meals do, but I'm pretty good at ignoring such trivial matters when I want to imagine myself a master chef...chefess?....hmmm...culinary genius.

At our house, we take eating seriously. Anyone who knows Cody, knows this. Meals are eaten at the table. (primarily...partly because I like the image of the family eating at the table...and partly because I'm too clumsy to handle a plate elsewhere.) I have probably dirtied more dishes than the dishwasher can hold in the cooking process, and I could very likely have fed several more people after we are finished (depending on the status of our dieting or failure to be dieting). So after the meal is prepared, the table is set, drinks are fixed, and we are finally all seated at the table, and Cody or Ryder (or Batman, Robin, Captain America, Guy from Swords, ect.) blesses the meal, and we begin to eat, and that is when my justification for thinking I am a wonderful meal preparer is evident. So whether this meal originated in Papa Bear and Gigis garden, or with Papa John, I know that I have fixed the best meal ever because the entire time Ryder eats, he ... hums?....sings?.....growls?......chews with the addition of an mmMMmmmMmm sound that we now refer to as his "eating noise."

Since his first can of pureed Gerber sweet potatoes, Ryder has swallowed food and hummed in unison. We moved to Cleveland just before he turned a year old, and for a few weeks, we thought he had left his eating noise in Columbia, but then one day there was food...and there was sound...and the eating noise has been with us ever since (except when he would eat snacks during worship services, of course.) As he's gotten older, we've noticed that on special random occasions, the eating noise will take the form of a familiar tune, such as "Hey, Soul Sister," or more commonly a nursery rhyme or a hymn. And the better the food is, the louder the sound, which is only to be expected :)

And since it is such a part of our meals, we forget about it, and have become oblivious to it. There have been a couple of situations where we have eaten with people new(ish) to Ryder, and we have been reminded that not everyone is used to a kid who hums while he eats. Our friend Johnny was eating with us, and he was concerned that he was hearing things since we were all talking and eating like nothing unusual was happening...because for us nothing unusual WAS happening since Ryder was humming as he ate his food. And Kyle and Kellee's niece, Hayley asked us if the eating noise ever stopped. I'm pretty sure it will have to stop if Ryder ever will have any hopes of impressing a girl :)

For the longest time, I didn't know if Ryder even realized he made an eating noise or if he realized that he was the ONLY ONE who made an eating noise. But a few months, he randomly tells me that he has a new eating noise. So, he goes from never discussing his eating noise, as he called it, to having a NEW one???(Luckily, the sound he made that he said was his new eating noise didn't stick...it was something between a hiccup and a cough and a gurgle that I'm pretty sure would be an impossible sound to make while eating without getting choked). And when Camden and Carter stay with Ryder, they will sometimes join Ryder in his eating noise song, or have very intellectual conversations about who makes eating noises and who doesn't. And I love that at this moment in his life, there is only acceptance between these beautiful little boys.

And although there are no real developments in the eating noise recently, it has gained a companion: the vacuuming noise. Ryder's chores includes using a little sweeper vac to clean the living room hardwood floor and the kitchen floor. And because the vacuum itself is apparently not loud enough on its own, Ryder joins it in making a vacuuming noise whenever he vacuums. And apparently the vacuum is not the only musical appliance in the house because he was very excited to tell me the other day that the "washer-disher (the washing machine) makes a light-saver song!!!"

One day, we will sit down at the table and eat without an eating noise. That is almost hard to imagine. And sometimes I do think we might need to work on eating without an eating noise, but for now....it is just. so. RYDER. And I love sharing a table with my cape adorned superhero beside a few invisible friends, eating noise in the background, and a moment in our lives to share with a little boy who is completely, happily, and so very wonderfully himself. So for now, we'll just be waitingforRyder to stop the eating noises on his own...and until then...I can just go on thinking that I'm pretty much the best cook ever :)

(Photo: So, since I didn't have a noisy photo, I used this one because: 1... Ryder is gorgeous, and 2...by the look of his face, I'm sure there was eating noises prior to this photo being taken at Granny Bill's birthday party last year :)

While he is Mine.

I am a mother;
I have been given a son to love, to teach, to learn from, to guide, to raise,
and then to give him the opportunity to make his own choices, to become his own man.
While he is mine to mold...

I will help my son make a card for someone who is sick,
but I can't make him be compassionate.
I will show him how to pick beans from the garden,
but I can't make him be thankful for his food.
I will remind him to pick up his toys,
but I can't make him be content with what he has.
I will teach my child to sound out his letters,
but I can't make him love to read.
I will instruct him to hold the door for an elderly person,
but I can't make him be conscientious of the needs of others.
I will require him to say "I'm sorry" when he has done wrong,
but I can't make him truly feel sorry for doing wrong.
I will encourage him to introduce himself to a new kid,
but I can't make him be friendly.
I will expect him to do his jobs around the house,
but I can't make him have a honest work ethic.
I will show my love and respect for his father,
but I can't make him value the gift of family.
I will share time with him planting flowers,
but I can't make him understand their beauty.
I will do my best to teach my child the truths of the Bible, the beauty of worship, and the power of prayer,
but I can't make Ryder a Christian.

I will be Ryder's mother always; teaching, encouraging, guiding, praising, correcting.
But I can't make him become a good man; that he must learn for himself.
I am so blessed to be Ryder's mother; to be given these moments of childhood that I can spend waiting for Ryder.

Sounding It Out

Have you ever been in a bookstore and nudged your friend with you to take note of the strange person next to you in the aisle. The one who is lovingly caressing book after book, smiling at one title like she has just ran into an old friend, and wrinkling up her nose at another like it just told her that her favorite pink skirt makes her look fat? The person who is oblivious to a ringing phone or to a crying kid (perhaps even if the kid looks like her and continues to call her Mommy) or even to the funny look teenagers are giving her as she makes her way through the YA aisle. If so, go ahead and say hello because I'm sure I will be glad to meet you...as long as you have a good book recommendation or you can help me with my valid dilemma of choosing between my current top twenty have-to-have-right-now books.

I can't remember not loving books, although I do remember not being able to read as I went to worship services as a little girl and longed to read the words to the songs on the page that mom helped me find....knowing that once those words made sense, I would have access to worlds and worlds of possibility. Recently, Ryder has been wanting me to find the pages in our songbooks for him, and although I remember that feeling of longing to know how to read, I still wonder what is it that keeps his interest in this pattern of letters that have yet to make words for him. I wonder why he cares if he's on the correct page since all the pages only hold random arrangements of letters for him right now (other than if he is looking through the pages to find Ws, of course :)

But tonight after services, I go home, and I bring down our dry erase boards, and we draw people and letters. We scribble and erase and draw again, and then I write c-a-t on the board and tell him to make the sounds, as we've worked on some before with the usual result being that he determines the letters c-a-t probably means pancake or some other unlikely answer, but this time....he pushes the sounds together to make a word, to make the right word...the one that other people who know the English language would agree that these letters actually spell...and he realizes what he's done....realizes that he has just read a word. So I write s-a-t on the board...and he again turns the sounds into a word. And so, of course, I write more combinations of letters on the board, changing beginning sounds and ending sounds and middle sounds over and over again, and he works to make the sounds and feel those sounds turn into words....and he just. gets. it. Not every time, of course. And there is some silliness and some guessing without thinking about it. (And by the way, C-A-R is tricky, because the A doesn't say "a" in this situation. Ryder sounded out the letters and came up with care...which is pretty good, although wrong...and so I helped with the A-R sounds) And I asked him several times if he was tired of playing because at this point, all I want is for this learning time to be fun for him-for him to love books and letters and reading. (Because he is only 3, and he hasn't figured out that learning is supposedly not fun). But he was astonished by the question. Why would he want to stop reading, when he's just learned he could do it??? Because there is some actual letters-turning-into-words, reading taking place. And there have been many mommy moments that I have been unprepared for, but to suddenly realize that Ryder can read? I had no idea just how powerful that moment would be. And I am amazed. And proud. And excited. I have been waitingforRyder to meet some of these old friends since he was born. He's already great friends with Sam-I-Am, and tonight I think I will introduce him to Amelia Bedelia :)

(Pictures: 1) Ryder "reading" in his playroom. 2) Ryder at Deer Park. This pictures is rather unrelated to this post, but I wanted a recent one here, too :)

Being Brave is Easier if you have Short Hair

Ryder has faced and overcome many fears in the past couple of years. He is no longer afraid of sand, cats, or swimming pools. He is not afraid of all little dogs (although it took him a while to decide not to be afraid of Lyndsay and Jenna's poodle who was staying at Kyle and Kellee's house the other day). And, as far as I know, he isn't afraid of bunnies anymore, either. And not only is he no longer afraid of Santa, he looks forward to seeing him all year long.

All of these fears have been alleviated just by Ryder growing up (and lots of encouragement from Mommy, Daddy, aunts, uncles, grandparents, and friends about courage and bravery :) But Ryder has developed some new fears that were quite unexpected.

I was getting him ready to go get his hair cut (which Ryder is now okay with, but Mommy is a little afraid of since our wonderful hair stylist has moved far, far away), and I was talking to him while he was picking out his clothes. I like to ask him questions just to hear his answers, and there are many times the answer I expect is not the answer I get. This was most definitely one of those times. "Ryder, do you want short hair or long hair," I asked. He looked at me in horror and said, "I want short hair. If I have long hair it will get stuck in a tree and then I would die." Hmmm. I had never considered that point before. I wonder if Mothers and Fathers across the nation have ever considered using the story of Absalom from II Samuel 18 to convince their sons that having long hair is not just a fashion preference, but a real and deadly danger! I knew that Ryder's Wednesday night Bible class had been studying about David, but I was quite surprised to hear the application that Ryder put to the story of Absalom. So we went and got Ryder's hair cut. Short. No dangers of it getting stuck in a tree and less likely to stick up all over the place after sleeping on it.

But his fears regarding long hair apparently weren't over then.

I have been taking English style riding lessons at Bayview Farm for several weeks now with my friend April. And then Cody's mom started taking lessons, too. We love it, and it so much more fun that we are taking the lessons together. For Mother's Day, Cody ordered me a pink riding helmet (All on his own, as a surprise, and it was very sweet and perfect!). The helmet was delayed in shipping, but showed up the day of my next lesson. Cody had to go to work, so Gigi was going to keep Ryder with her after her lesson at the farm and watch as April and I rode. Ryder has never been scared of horses, and he was fine with his Gigi and his mom riding a horse. He is okay with the fact that they are bigger than we are, stronger than we are, and weigh more than we do (which is a good thing :) However, as we were leaving, he had a very serious concern regarding his mother riding a horse: "But Mommy, your hair is long and it could get stuck in a tree!" Now, I had been concerned about falling off or having my foot stepped on, but I had never stopped to think about the dangers of long hair. Luckily, I had just gotten my very own pink helmet, and I put it on and showed Ryder that my helmet would protect me from getting my hair stuck in a tree (which is what riding helmets are for after all, right?) . He is a big fan of helmets anyway, so the helmet solved all fears of Mommy riding a horse. And after my lesson, he even let my instructor put my helmet on him, and he rode from the arena to the barn.

I haven't heard anymore about the dangers of long hair lately, but it seems that I may have to step up my reasoning skills when Ryder is afraid of something. We were walking to our car the other night and it was dark (and Ryder had no headlamp, flashlight or even shiny shoes to help us see...although there were plenty of streetlamps, but apparently that doesn't count). Ryder told me he was scared of the dark. I started to tell him that he wasn't scared of the dark, but instead, I just asked him if he wanted his Daddy to carry him. He gave me a funny look, and said, "But it will still be dark." And he was right. His daddy carrying him would not solve the problem of it being dark. I am definitely going to need to work on my Mommy's solutions to scary situations.

The first time Ryder watched Monsters, Inc. he sat in Cody's lap, and if Cody would move his arm from around him, he would pull it back down. And he loved to watch Rudolph, but he would crawl into my lap every time the snow monster appeared. Now, he wields his foam sword, and says, "Mommy, I'm protecting you." He thinks he's protecting me from dragons, and monsters, and General Grieve-e-us and all sorts of scary creatures. He has no idea that waitingforRyder's next new fear or his next show of bravery, either one displayed in such sweet childish innocence, is protection against so much that is wrong with the world.....Like boys with long hair, of course :)

(Pictures: 1)Ryder no like sand from our vacation in Destin. 2)Ryder getting his hair cut. This was from the time before when he went with Brody and Kyle and Kellee took pictures. 3) Ryder watching Gigi's riding lesson at BayView. 4) Ryder on Auditor with my new pink helmet that keeps my hair from getting tangled in trees :)

Superhero Ryder

Ryder is a superhero. He is Batman, or Robin. Some days he is Master Yoda or Ironman. Occasionally, he is Dar Fight (the good guy version of Darth Vader :), and rarely, he is simply Ryder. But no matter who he is, he is a good guy.

I am not at all a Star Wars fan, but Ryder loves it. Without watching it, just from playing with Camden and Carter's toys, from a sticker book Daddy and Momma got him one day, from all these small things, Ryder has decided that "a star war" is his favorite toy. I have tried to ignore his love of Star Wars, to encourage Diego or Superwhy (which he still really likes, also), and just hope he would grow bored with Star Wars. But Jonie explained it to me one day. She said, "Kristy, they have swords. That glow." Mother of a little boy, lesson #1-If you don't want your little boy to like Star Wars, never let him see the glowing swords, because really, that is all. it. takes.

So, I gave in and Ryder now has a Star Wars shirt, some pajamas, and a couple of toys. He only knows about a few of the characters (taught to him by Camden). His favorite characters:
*Master Yoda (he's a good guy)
*General Griev-e-ous (he's a bad guy, but he has 5 light savers)
*RdtootieDtootie (sometimes he is also called CR)
*Darth Vader (who is a bad guy and a little scary, so he turns into Dar Fight, who looks just like Darth Vader, but he is a good guy.)

So Ryder loves Star Wars, and Batman, and Ironman, and Spiderman, along with the classic good versus evil story line. And while I may not care for droids and gadgets, the good versus evil storyline? That, I can totally appreciate. I'm just sad that Ryder doesn't remember his trip to the space center that featured the Star Wars exhibit, complete with him coming face to face with the Snow Monster (the one from Rudolph, that we had promised him was not real).

And if you haven't been introduced to Superhero Ryder.... well, he's a boy who loves Ws and has an eating noise. He wears capes and eyes holders and shiny shoes. He makes up stories and sings songs. When he runs, he moves his elbows as much as his feet. He's conquered great fears in his lifetime and his weakness is no longer sand or cats. He gives great arm hugs and has many friends who love him. But the most important thing to know about superhero Ryder is that he is most of all a good guy.

And his Daddy and Mommy love waiting for Superhero Ryder's next episode. It's always entertaining, often insightful, and always comes with cuddles for Mommy and wrestling for Daddy.

waitingforMMATW

It has come to my attention, that I have incorrectly spelled my child's name. Not only did I not name him Batman, or Robin, but in naming him Ryder, I apparently left out the W. So Ryder has taken it upon himself to respell his name. We were riding in the Jeep, when Ryder began this conversation:

Ryder: "Hey, mom. My name is like yours, M-O-M, but without the O."
Me: "Really. Then what is your name?"
Ryder: "M-M-A-T-W."
Me: "Why don't you spell your name R-Y-D-E-R?"
Ryder: "Because it doesn't have a W in it."
(Of course! Why didn't I think of that!!!)
Me: "Well, what does M-M-A-T-W spell?"
Ryder: "Just me."

So, in the last few weeks, Ryder's name has been spelled many ways...the only constant is that the arrangement of letters he chooses ends with a W. Yesterday, his name was spelled R-Y-D-E-R-W. I suppose it may really be part of human nature to want what we don't have. If we have curly hair we want straight hair; if we have a toy fire engine, we want a toy motorcycle, and if our name is spelled with two R's, we like W's instead. And while I very much want Ryder to be content and not to always be longing for what he does not have, I love waitingforRyder's next W story.

(If you don't know about Ryder and the letter W, more information can be found in these earlier posts: http://waitingforryder.blogspot.com/2010/01/w-christmas.html and http://waitingforryder.blogspot.com/2009/10/from-wiggles-to-words.html )

(Photo: Ryder from the W Christmas, 2010)

In Small Packages

Our mail carrier is a little like Santa. Fortunately for her, she is not round with a large fluffy white beard, but rather is Santa-like in that she frequently brings presents (small, mailbox sized presents). My favorite presents are generally the Imagination Library books that come once a month. But she brings an assortment of goodies for the family in the form of coupons and product samples or letters from friends.

A couple of months ago, I opened a rather uninteresting large envelope at the table. Tylenol had sent a booklet of coupons for Tylenol PM, a CD of soothing, sleep-inducing songs (I suppose, I haven't listened to it yet), and a sleep mask. Ryder was playing in the kitchen while I opened the mail, and he saw me pull out the sleep mask, and said, "Mama! You have eyes holders! Whose are those!" Eyes holders? So anyway, of course I gave him the eyes holders, and he was very happy. So happy that he wore them for a day and a half....and then a strap broke, so I sewed it back together. I know my quilting skills would be very important someday. And then he wore it for about a week, before he lost it. All the time. He wore it playing, and eating, and going out. He Oddly enough, the only time he didn't wear them was when he slept, because I was paranoid that the straps could choke him. So at night, they hung safely on a knob on his dresser.But other than that, the eyes holders were as essential to being dressed as his shirt or socks. They eyes holders are worn mostly pushed up on his forehead, like a headband (but a very boyish headband, of course). And I decided that wearing the eyes holders everywhere shouldn't include Bible class, but when he took it off, his hair was sticking up so horribly that I decided the eyes holders were less distracting than his hairstyle for the evening. The eyes holders go through cycles of being worn all the time, getting lost, and then found again, so they are still very much in our vocabulary.

A month ago, our little friend Hannah Kate became impatient for her due date to arrive and decided to join her Mommy and Daddy early, despite what the family, her doctors, or anyone else had to say about that choice. Shortly after her arrival, she was placed under a light for treatment. And Hannah Kate, sweet, tiny, little baby, was given her first pair of eyes holders! When I got back home from the hospital, I told Ryder about Hannah Kate's eyes holders, and he said respectfully, "She had little, bitty, tiny eyes holders!" I think he was pretty impressed with her! As are we all, but probably not so much because of the eyes holders :)

So, the Tylenol sleep mask is still a popular toy, and maybe even more so, since Cody cut these weird little triangle eyes holes in them. Ryder doesn't keep it down over his eyes very much, but his favorite times are when he gets to wear his Batman shirt with the cape, his Batman pants, his shiny shoes, and his eyes holders. And the great thing about being a kid is that we are now on the lookout for sleep masks for Camden and Carter...because instead of ridiculing him for wearing a sleep mask with crazy cut out holes that give you bad hair, they instead are ready to join right in. So while we don't exactly sit at the window, waiting for the mail carrier, it's always exciting to see Ryder's excitement at the small packages that come in the mail, whether books or a little lego car, or a sleep mask saved from the trash by becoming eyes holders for a very special little super hero.

Photo: (Ryder with Brody, after getting haircuts. Ryder is wearing his eyes holders, and Brody is very happy while eating his hand. Fun times!)

General Update: (Hannah Kate is one month old, still in the NICU at Vanderbilt, but doing very well. She is precious in lots of pink and flowers, and we get to see her pretty eyes instead of the eyes holders :)

That's Just What Boys Do

According to Ryder, the following items are "just what boys do."

1. Say "yes ma'am and no sir" and use good manners.

2. Love their mommies.

3. Give hugs and kisses to their mommies and wrestle with their daddies.

If I tell Ryder thank you for any of these things, he shrugs and says in a sweet voice, "That's just what boys do." I'm not waitingforRyder to learn what the world thinks boys "just do." I think his current list is pretty perfect. (Of course, we are working on adding cleaning up his toys to the list :)

***Photo: Ryder, Carter, and Camden, our sweet boys!

Growing Pains

I don't know of an adult who hasn't at some point envied the briefest moment of the peace and bliss that exists in childhood. We regret that we didn't enjoy the absence of responsibility, the adoration of those around us, the ability to eat mac n cheese as an entire meal with no worries of calories or carbs when we were kids, and now that time in our lives is forever over. We get up to go to work, pay the bills, clean the house, mow the yard, and do all sorts of unfun things over and over again. As we grow older, we start having to work for the adoration of others. Wearing multiple layers of swim clothes backwards, or eyes holders, or headlamps begin to lose the coolness as friends look at us strangely instead of seeing them and instantly squealing, "My turn! My turn!" And I have never seen an adult wearing shiny shoes. We eat tiny amounts of bland food, feeling guilty at ordering mac-n-cheese even as a side, and count the calories that we gain in even looking at Baskin Robbins as we drive by. I suppose that we love children so much because we do get to experience and enjoy the perks and fun of childhood through them, to re-experience it with their joy coupled with our wisdom of how brief and wondorous the time is.

My eyes holders wearing, pancake eating, ouchie saying, eating-noise making, shiny shoed three year old, however, spent time yesterday being SAD that he is no longer a BABY! Ryder is the very essence of childhood joy. He plays all day, he runs with his arms all flailing about, his friends don't ridicule him for playing with imaginary toys-they just play with them, too. He sings and talks to himself, and makes his eating noise when he eats....and all this oddness is CUTE (for now). He has grandparents and family and friends who adore him, and a mom and dad who think he is the coolest kid ever (and would never, ever, ever wish to trade in this amazing personality for the sweet and adorable, yet silent and unfunny baby).

Yesterday, he asked me "Mommy, where are my baby clothes?" Apparently, my child is more sentimental than I am because I sell his outgrown clothes in consignment sales, and buy clothes that fit him, and therefore, spend very little money on clothes (which I'm sure he will appreciate one day). One of his baby outfits, we shared with Brody. I have his Mule Day t shirt, his first birthday T shirt, and another button up shirt.....and that is all of his baby clothes that I still have. I explain this to him, only to have him panic and ask, "But what will I wear when I am a baby again?" And so I must explain the aging process to my 3 year old. I explain that he will only get older, and will never be a baby again. (Which has it's good points, because when Kyle and Kellee were getting ready to have Brody, Ryder told me he didn't want to go back in my belly again.) I tell him that babies can't eat candy, or run, or wear eyes holders. Babies have to wear diapers and they can't talk to tell their Mommies what they want. In talking about what babies can't do that three year olds can do, he seemed to see the superiority of being a big boy over being a baby again.

However, he did ask me to finish feeding him his lunch of vegetable beef soup. And when we were at Cracker Barrell for supper, he did ask me to hold him before his pankcake came, and then when we got home, he insisted that just try to put on his baby clothes. I brought down the two Tshirts (both from when he was about a year old) and he tugged, and wriggled, and pulled, and finally got the 12 month sized Mule Day T shirt over his head. He was very proud to be wearing his baby clothes, ignoring the fact that the shirt showed half his belly and barely fit over his head.

He finally traded in his baby shirt for his Batman shirt and cape, and wrestled with Daddy and Aprilia before bedtime. So perhaps it's just human nature to feel a nostalgic longing for the past, no matter how old we are. I know one day, I will be looking back on these days when I was waitingforRyder to ask if he could wear his swim clothes and his cape to quilting, with a nostalgic longing to have me be able to heal all his hurts with a kiss and remembering how wonderful it feels to have an arm hug from the boy who will always be my baby.

***1st photo: Camden (ab 10 months) and Ryder (about 2 months); photo taken by Denise Skelton (http://www.skeltonphotography.com/)

2nd photo: Ryder at about 6 months in Columbia

3rd photo: Ryder at 3 (Feb. 9, 2011) in his baby clothes :)