Christmas Music

I can’t find our Christmas CDs.  I usually keep them out all year, but last year I inadvertently packed them away with all the other decorations and this year I did not get out my plethora of boxes because half our house is being occupied by friends and all their stuff, and there just isn’t room for my abundance of holiday decor, so the CDs are somewhere in the attic in a box that probably will not be retrieved for another year.   Lord, help me.

One of the highlights of the month of December for our entire family is listening to Christmas music.  There is not another holiday or event all year long that invokes musical interludes like the Christmas season, so it is certainly something we cannot miss.  We each have our favorite CDs, which get played repeatedly until someone else in the house puts a stop to it and switches it with their favorite.

When I was a kid I listened incessantly to my mom’s favorites - the likes of Bing Crosby, Andy Williams and Elvis Presley – each with their own special 33rpm Christmas albums that were stacked up on the turntable and played throughout the month.  I don’t ever remember my mom dancing at any other time of the year, but when Elvis’ Blue Christmas song came blasting out of those stereo speakers, she’d start to dance and grab whatever kid was near to twirl them around the living room and join her in that little holiday thrill. Music does that to a person.  I must admit, Elvis’ Blue Christmas is one of my favorites, too, but listening to Clay Aiken singing Mary Did You Know brings me to tears each and every time I hear it, so it’s a close second.  Both songs are good ones in their own unique ways.

When Kaleb was a preschooler he used to love the song, Feliz Navidad. He had a little guitar he’d strum and run around the house singing “Feliz Na-bi-da” over and over again.  He kinda sounded like Elvis when he was doing it and I’m ever so thankful I captured those moments on video, but like the Christmas CDs, who knows where that is.

Currently, Kaleb loves a group called “Go Fish” and his all time favorite song of theirs is Christmas with a Capital C.  That song gets us both up dancing in the living room, singing at the top of our lungs right along with them.  It’s good to have such joy in the house.

I recently bought a retro Andy Williams Christmas CD to add to my now missing holiday collection. That’s all that’s going to be playing in our house this year unless I succumb and finally try to figure out how to download music off the Internet.   I usually resist technological advances but if they somehow figure out how to project holographic Christmas decorations so I don’t have to unpack any more

Unexpected Gifts

My son is about to turn 16 years old.  This is a mind numbing reality and the only thing I can think about is what someone told me when he was a baby  - “The years go by so fast, but sometimes the days are really long.”  How true that has been.

Even though I believe children are a gift from God, I’ve struggled many times with this particular gift and wondered if it was returnable.

It’s an awesome responsibility raising a child.  How people raise more than one is beyond me.  We even have good odds in our household – two full time parents to one child – and it still feels impossible.

I was 41 years old and my husband, Kory, had just turned 55 and retired, when Kaleb was born.  He is our first and only child – an unexpected retirement gift.  I never planned to have children and Kory was told he wasn’t able to – so I couldn’t have been more unprepared for motherhood.  What we thought our retirement years were going to look like couldn’t have been more different.  All our retirement plans got put on hold while we have taken this detour to raise a child.

Even though our son has turned out to be the most unexpected blessing of our lives, at the time of his birth, I was totally clueless on what to do with this miraculous gift from God.    

Several years prior to Kaleb entering the picture, I tried to adopt a third dog from the Humane Society.  I had to fill out several forms and I was investigated to determine whether I was fit to take on such a responsibility.  In the end, I was denied the dog on a technicality – the city we lived in required a kennel license for that many pets. 

Yet, ironically, when I brought a baby home from the hospital, no one asked me a thing.  I didn’t have to prequalify; there were no forms to fill out, no background investigation, and certainly no one checking out whether I’d be a good parent or not. Even being so much older than most first time mothers, motherhood seemed an daunting task for which I’d received no training.  Praying daily for wisdom has been my number one survival tool.

This past weekend our home was full of teens hanging out with our boy and the teenage boy living upstairs.  It feels like we’ve entered yet another place of uncharted territory as the teens weren’t all boys. While the end of raising Kaleb may be in sight, I’m pretty sure there are still a few surprises and challenges left for us to experience before he’s off to college and we start our Retirement: Version 2 plans.

As I was in the midst of wrapping up gifts for Kaleb’s 16^th birthday, some things he asked for and some things he didn’t - I thought about him as a gift we certainly didn’t ask for, but usually the gifts you didn’t ask for turn out to be the greatest gifts of all.

Homeless

For some unknown reason, my husband, Kory, likes to engage in conversation with homeless people.  He finds them fascinating and he always wants to know their story.  Where most people shy away, he dives in.

Twenty-six years ago Kory was managing a small apartment building his mother owned in Seattle.  He rented one of the units to a homeless guy who had just turned his life around.  Otto was a Vietnam vet and former Marine who’d lived on the streets for years, but managed to get a job in the very homeless shelter where he’d found warmth and comfort on many cold nights.  It was a risk, renting to someone with such a sketchy past, but Kory felt he was giving the guy a break he deserved.

When Kory’s mother died and we bought that apartment building from her estate, Otto was still living there and continued to live there until he died just last week.  We always kept his rent low, knowing his resources were limited.  It was Kory’s way of helping the guy out.  Otto was one of the most faithful tenants we’ve ever had.  Every month, for twenty-six years, he paid his rent a week early, he never complained about a thing, and always sent thank-you notes when we did anything special for him.  I never would have predicted any of that.

We’ve volunteered a few times to serve meals to the homeless at Friendship House in Mount Vernon, but were always so busy with the work, there wasn’t much time to chat, so when Kory found out that Christ the King Church feeds the homeless twice a week, he jumped at the opportunity to go engage in conversation with the locals.  He also wanted to make himself available to pray for anyone that felt the need for inviting God’s help into their situation.

Not sure what to expect, I went him and was very humbled by the experience, especially when one guy asked us to pray that he would find a sleeping bag, since the weather had turned so cold and all he had were two blankets, which weren’t enough to keep him warm.   After Kory prayed for the guy, he got to be the answer to that very prayer when he rushed home to pick up one of our sleeping bags to give to him.  Such a small thing for us to give, but a big thing for that guy to receive.

That night, when Kory and I crawled into our very comfy bed, sleeping between warm flannel sheets and resting our heads on soft down pillows, we couldn’t stop thinking about that man, curled up somewhere on the streets of Mount Vernon, hopefully a little warmer that night than the one before, but certainly not enjoying the comfortable night’s sleep we had.  We both gave God an extra shout out of thanks for something we all too often take for granted – the comforts and safety of our home.

I’ve been extra thankful this past week for even just the littlest of things.  One homeless man in Mount Vernon taught me that.

I’ve always loved the saying, “What if I woke up today with just the things I thanked God for yesterday?”  It’s good to be thankful.

Bullying

We’ve had a family of four living upstairs in our house for six weeks now.  The ten-year-old boy is a hoot and just the sweetest kid, so it breaks my heart when he tells me stories after school about all the bullying he endures each and every day.

It seems when he was in first grade he had the habit of picking his nose.  He’s grown out of that “disgusting habit” as he now calls it, but the kids at school won’t let him ever forget.  The fact he’s in fifth grade now and has gone over three years without once picking his nose in public, just doesn’t register with his classmates.  They will forever see him as a nose picker.

He told me whenever a new kid comes to school, he likes to be the first one to pull them aside and give them a head’s up – that they will hear stories about him from other kids that are no longer true, and he begs them to not believe what they hear.  He’s made a few new friends this way, as they’re able to brush aside the unkind nicknames and playground gossip and see him for who he is today.

But this sweet kid just can’t catch a break.  I was at his basketball practice last week and another kid on his team cried at every turn.  If he didn’t make a practice shot, he cried.  If he didn’t get the ball passed to him, he cried.  Now that kid, I thought, probably gets bullied. According to my little upstairs friend, that kid does get bullied, but not as much as him. 

Soon, the family upstairs will be moving to a new house, which will require my little buddy to change elementary schools.  In fact, one of the main reasons for this family moving is to do just that – to put him in a new school.  The bullying is relentless and the kid’s just had it.  The school’s zero tolerance policy on bullying apparently doesn’t work.  He needs a fresh start.  

I’ve always told my son the old adage that “you never get a second chance to make a first impression,” and this is a good example of what can happen as a result.  My little buddy needs another chance to make a first impression and a new school will hopefully do that for him.  He’s counting down the days and so looking forward to putting the past behind him.

This whole scenario got me to thinking about the holidays and how some families I know have difficulties when they gather together.  In many families, it’s rare to get a second chance.  The old tapes keep playing in people’s minds and even when a person is 40, everyone still remembers how they acted when they were 20. Grace does not get extended often enough for past mistakes, and blinders seem to keep people from noticing changes that have been made.  Words slip out - feelings get hurt.  Forgiveness is often lacking and no one, it seems, ever forgets. 

It’s childhood bullying all over again – just played out among adult family members.  The nose pickers will forever be nose pickers.  But wouldn’t it be great if this year, like my little pal, everyone was granted a fresh start?

My Teenager

If I say “black,” my used-to-be-such-a-sweet-pea-but-is-now-a-teenager, says “white.” If I suggest anything, it’s immediately dismissed as a possibility, whether it’s helpful tips for time management or how to “win friends and influence people.”  I think my job as a mother is done.  There is no more impact I am able to make with my child, other than be the bad guy and give him consequences for chores not completed or being disrespectful.

My, how time has changed things.

We made a contract, which I have hanging in my office, signed by that sweet little boy himself when he was 6-years-old promising to “always love on my Mama.”  These days, I have to beg for a morning hug and even then, it’s only my arms wrapped around him, while his arms hang limp by his side, as if he’s enduring a torturous moment.

We’ve been doing a lot of college shopping lately, as it’s less than a year away until he has to make big choices on where he wants to apply.  He recently informed me that any school that’s within a day’s drive of home is just too close.  He wants to be far away.

What happened?

I met a new friend of his a few weeks ago, another teenager that spent time with him last summer on a ten day adventure with the youth group from our church.  The first words out of her mouth were, “Oh, you’re Kaleb’s mom?  You’ve raised such a nice boy!”  “Really?” I asked, “Really?”  She smiled and walked away as I turned to look at my boy and inquire if truly she was talking about him.  He smirked and said, “I am a nice guy, I just don’t let you see that side of me.”  And this is the payback I get for being the Nice Guy’s mother – nothing but attitude.

Friends tell me it’s “normal,” and part of the separation process kids have to go through with their parents.  I’m reminded by many to think back on my teenager years and how I treated my parents.  All of that is well meaning consolation, but I guess I expected something different.  I’ve tried to be a loving mother with healthy boundaries and at this point anyway it all seems for naught.

Just last week, my 15-year-old “sweet boy” asked me at what age I thought children advanced into adulthood.  I told him the law says they are adults at age 18.  “I don’t mean that, I mean, at what point do you think they become mature enough to make good decisions for themselves?”  I said at about age 30.  We then had some discussion about what it really takes to be an adult and how some people never really grow up – a good example being his father – who at age 70 still acts like a boy in many ways.  The conversation ended with him telling me that in his opinion, and based on conversations he’s had with other homeschooled friends, he thinks a person moves from childhood to adulthood at age 14.  So apparently, the law has it all wrong.  This explains a lot.