Sit back. It's story time!! One of my favorite childhood storybooks paraphrased, and yes, most adults, including myself, need to hear this. Tune in...
Once upon a time there lived a village of little wooden people. It was like most other towns except they had this strange habit of walking around giving each other stickers. Those who were able to perform tricks, stunts, were beautiful or had mad skills were given a golden star sticker. Amazing. However, if you had no special skills, tricks, stunts, or were unattractive, you were given a large grey dot. These stickers stuck forever and the more you had, the better, or worse, it was for you.
Well there was this little wooden boy, lets call him Jack. He always got stuck with grey dots. He could never figure out how to impress others. He tried so very hard, failed every time and ended up crying himself to sleep at night. Then, a strange thing happened. He met a girl who had no stickers! Unheard of! He approached her and asked where her stickers were- was she a star or a grey loser? She said people tried to give her stickers and they just didn't stick.
Jack, exhausted from trying to figure out the system, asked, "Why?" She said, "I go to my Maker's house and spend time with him."
So the next day she took him there. He was a gentle man, large and strong, and was busy working. Jack initially hid, embarrassed from his stickers. When he saw Jack he said, "So nice to see you. I wondered when you would come to visit."
Jack spent some time with him and as he left, two grey dots tumbled to the floor. It was the start of real change.
So first, thank you Max Lucado for that wonderful story and helping me play teacher read aloud with complete strangers and my mother, who faithfully reads this blog. Bless you kind man. And bless you mom for your support.
And second, this comes after a long discussion today with a friend on competitive parents, raising competitive children, in a cut throat society. Have you experienced this?
Well a year ago we did a strange thing and pulled our oldest out of public school. That was one large competitive field taken away. Our curriculum is clearly our own path, doing what needs to be done, teaching our children what they need to learn. No one outside of homeschooling even knows what to ask about us or how to comment. My neighbor today did say that my kids seemed socially adapted even though they were homeschooled. Hmm. And guess what? We have folks in our lives who don't even bring up the topic...either they disagree or have no clue what to ask. I was like them once so I don't judge.
So when I hear parents competing, I don't get it. We don't do competitive sports, except summer swim team which is fun focused, and I think is miraculous my daughter at 7 can do what I can't do at 34. So yes we videoed every single meet and I just think she's awesome. If she wins and if she doesn't- she has a working body God gave her and she is doing what she loves. Winner winner chicken dinner.
And we have an allotted budget for special activities. Because in our family, that's what they are- activities. A place on our budget sheet (Dave Ramsey Woot Woot!) to be filled with something they love. Ways to experience the arts, science, movement, culture, etc. (Now I'm speaking like I'm a REAL homeschool mama. Lemme go grab my denim jumper and whisk my long locks over my shoulder! Holla holla!!)
Competing can come in so many forms- how a baby sleeps, eats, whether or not you have morning sickness in pregnancy (Side note- I threw up all nine months with both of mine. Yes. Nine months. I once had a friend tell me it was mind over matter. Then with her second pregnancy sick as a dog. Perspective change. That's it.) I continue...what toys and gadgets your baby has, what preschool they go to, clothes they wear, whether or not they tinkle in the potty, then poopy, bed wetting, what elementary school they go to, how they perform, then comes competitive sports for many families...even a competitive archery travel team. How cute. Do you know that is an underutilized college scholarship for girls? Who knew...I was educated recently.
My stickers are in a phase of just not sticking. At least now. Maybe my kids will grow some major competitive skill and I will need to reconsider. (And this I pray, dear Lord, that their skill take us to Hawaii. I don't ask much, really. Just somewhere tropical. Amen.) I am however, always looking for ways to develop their strengths and things they love. We have experienced different things and stick with what they like.
I am on a different path than anyone in this world. My children are different than any child in this world. I make decisions for us based on our needs, wants, and loves. And they don't include any other child.
I don't entertain the thoughts and I just plain don't care. I love competition. (Race the clock, baby!) I think it is healthy. I think it is necessary. It has lots of life lessons. They will and do face it. But I pray my girls do it with a quiet soul, speak with strength, dignity, and with an unshakable confidence that can only come from spending time with their Maker. Because only he really matters.
Wednesday, July 24, 2013
Monday, July 22, 2013
Young Love
So I just made a mad dash to my favorite store for midnight runs, Target, for a quick leotard for dance camp for tomorrow. First world issues so I will not pursue this topic any further. Let's just say I was not happy about going and actually may have grunted at the cashier.
Moving on...as I get outside to leave I see our new neighbors and say hi and ask how they are settling in. They look e-lated and say they have a new cat. I say, "Oh how sweet." (Thinking ugh I hate cats. Fake smile. High pitched yay. You get it.) Well then I ask what they named it and she answers, "Cahhrut" Because I didn't understand her northern accent, I ask, "Did you say care-rut?" in my most southern accent because that's all I got y'all. It was "carrot" because of it's color. I tell them I am so happy for them (just don't let me around it) and then I climb up into my husband's truck feeling like a country bumpkin at best. I carried a sweet smile knowing I'm not changing.
You see my husband and I went to college and both got advanced degrees. I studied English linguistics and Spanish linguistics. (Hablo español. And my husband just taught me how to do the ~ on the "N" that he learned while shopping at the Apple store. Don't judge, college has been a while.) I actually taught children to speak English. But you also need to know that none of this matters when you live in the south.
I once told someone that if you live in the south, you have a little "country" in your family somewhere. This lady looked appalled and said, "Well, I don't! All my family has money." And I'm thinking maybe we don't need to hang out anymore because it's the truth. Money or no money, honey, embrace your culture. Let it ride...
So as selfish as it sounds, I evaluated my "country" all the way to Target, which might be the most yuppie place I could shop? (And yes I frequent Walmart but Target is closer and has leotards.) And sometimes my daughter's "country" comes out. Like this past year when all she wanted to wear was her cowgirl boots. (Now don't even begin to call them cowBOY boots because she will correct you...)
Then I was thinking that I would probably get them from Target (ha) and need to be looking for them soon. Then I was getting excited for their enrichment classes in the fall and time to myself. And then I was excited for them to be with their friends. And then I remembered my daughter's special friend from school.
And I'm sorry it took this long but here's the story with them...Sit back and get ready to think it's the cutest young love story ever. Because it is.
So my oldest goes to enrichment classes with other homeschooled kids. I signed her up because I wanted her to learn to sit in a school chair and practice school. But most importantly, it meant I didn't have to teach Science or Social Studies. Now that's the bees knees right there. (If you are a homeschool hero mama, please ignore that last comment. We all have our limits and mine are being tested every single day with this here thing called homeschool...I love it but don't love it. Please understand my confusion and tension with the whole topic and let's proceed...)
She came home one day last spring and said she was getting married, in full seriousness. She headed upstairs in search for a perfect dress, wanting to know if she had any white dresses that passed as a school uniform. She told me where they were getting married, the school playground, and who her bridesmaids were going to be. I said, "Well, honey, the most important thing here is who is this lucky fellow?" She told me and I asked why she liked him so much.
She said, "Mommy, he will play puppy with me on the playground and I like his cowboy boots."
(I should add he also loves camo. He came head to toe in camo to her birthday party. He is absolutely precious.)
So how does a mommy handle this? Well, she hides her laughter and sends her to her daddy, of course. Daddy says that she cannot marry him without a long talk and they need to wait 20 years. (Roughly until they are 27. Sounded fair to me.) She tells the special friend and they agree to wait.
She told me she also likes him because he likes science and is willing to get dirty. And I just love her for this. And while they are still friends and play together, she will continue to practice becoming friends with boys, a precursor to marriage. Because one of these boys throughout her life will, Lord willing, become her husband one day.
And if you've been married for a good long while you know that it comes back to friendship, taking care of one another, and standing for the one you love. And having some fun. Because life is too short to be boring together. And my little girl has a little of my crazy zany whimsy. And I love her for it. And I pray for the one that will love her for it too. Like her daddy, please.
Moving on...as I get outside to leave I see our new neighbors and say hi and ask how they are settling in. They look e-lated and say they have a new cat. I say, "Oh how sweet." (Thinking ugh I hate cats. Fake smile. High pitched yay. You get it.) Well then I ask what they named it and she answers, "Cahhrut" Because I didn't understand her northern accent, I ask, "Did you say care-rut?" in my most southern accent because that's all I got y'all. It was "carrot" because of it's color. I tell them I am so happy for them (just don't let me around it) and then I climb up into my husband's truck feeling like a country bumpkin at best. I carried a sweet smile knowing I'm not changing.
You see my husband and I went to college and both got advanced degrees. I studied English linguistics and Spanish linguistics. (Hablo español. And my husband just taught me how to do the ~ on the "N" that he learned while shopping at the Apple store. Don't judge, college has been a while.) I actually taught children to speak English. But you also need to know that none of this matters when you live in the south.
I once told someone that if you live in the south, you have a little "country" in your family somewhere. This lady looked appalled and said, "Well, I don't! All my family has money." And I'm thinking maybe we don't need to hang out anymore because it's the truth. Money or no money, honey, embrace your culture. Let it ride...
So as selfish as it sounds, I evaluated my "country" all the way to Target, which might be the most yuppie place I could shop? (And yes I frequent Walmart but Target is closer and has leotards.) And sometimes my daughter's "country" comes out. Like this past year when all she wanted to wear was her cowgirl boots. (Now don't even begin to call them cowBOY boots because she will correct you...)
Then I was thinking that I would probably get them from Target (ha) and need to be looking for them soon. Then I was getting excited for their enrichment classes in the fall and time to myself. And then I was excited for them to be with their friends. And then I remembered my daughter's special friend from school.
And I'm sorry it took this long but here's the story with them...Sit back and get ready to think it's the cutest young love story ever. Because it is.
So my oldest goes to enrichment classes with other homeschooled kids. I signed her up because I wanted her to learn to sit in a school chair and practice school. But most importantly, it meant I didn't have to teach Science or Social Studies. Now that's the bees knees right there. (If you are a homeschool hero mama, please ignore that last comment. We all have our limits and mine are being tested every single day with this here thing called homeschool...I love it but don't love it. Please understand my confusion and tension with the whole topic and let's proceed...)
She came home one day last spring and said she was getting married, in full seriousness. She headed upstairs in search for a perfect dress, wanting to know if she had any white dresses that passed as a school uniform. She told me where they were getting married, the school playground, and who her bridesmaids were going to be. I said, "Well, honey, the most important thing here is who is this lucky fellow?" She told me and I asked why she liked him so much.
She said, "Mommy, he will play puppy with me on the playground and I like his cowboy boots."
(I should add he also loves camo. He came head to toe in camo to her birthday party. He is absolutely precious.)
So how does a mommy handle this? Well, she hides her laughter and sends her to her daddy, of course. Daddy says that she cannot marry him without a long talk and they need to wait 20 years. (Roughly until they are 27. Sounded fair to me.) She tells the special friend and they agree to wait.
She told me she also likes him because he likes science and is willing to get dirty. And I just love her for this. And while they are still friends and play together, she will continue to practice becoming friends with boys, a precursor to marriage. Because one of these boys throughout her life will, Lord willing, become her husband one day.
And if you've been married for a good long while you know that it comes back to friendship, taking care of one another, and standing for the one you love. And having some fun. Because life is too short to be boring together. And my little girl has a little of my crazy zany whimsy. And I love her for it. And I pray for the one that will love her for it too. Like her daddy, please.
Tuesday, July 9, 2013
HGTV in the Head
To the woman who said she wouldn't consider homeschooling, who said her house would never look like an elementary school classroom, who teetered on not letting her toddlers finger paint, because, well, we didn't want her to go over the cliff with crazy, and who was eventually brave and said yes to God to home school: You are eating your words. Yummers. Do they taste good?
So my mother always says to never say never. She also quotes my grandmother who said "It's easier to go up than down." Who lived the depression and knew what wants and needs really were. And every year I get it in my head I want to move massive amounts of furniture around the house, things going up the stairs, things coming down, and all remade. Because I like to create. And God was gracious enough to give me a strong (hot- yes I know you are red-faced, my love), patient, spontaneous husband. We are furniture moving. The kind where you don't have play dates over not because it's messy but because they can't fit through the blocked door. Or find their toys. Or their shoes to escape. Or the bathroom so they go on the floor. (Ok, I will pause to say this almost happened to me, not visitors.)
I like to create, reorganize. As a matter of fact if you are reading this blog and I've been in your house, I have probably reorganized it, remodeled it, and redecorated it. In my freakin head. Not that I disagree with your taste or whatever, it's just what I do. I lie in bed at night and dream up scenarios in my head. HGTV in my head. It is my happy place.
So we have this ridiculous waste of space 14 ft bedroom ceiling. One time we had a contractor come over to give us a quote on some shelving. I had previously told my husband that I was going to ask him about my big plan. This plan involved shortening our waste of space 14ft bedroom ceiling and using dead space above it, redoing the whole dern thing and making a storage/craft room above it. Brilliant, right? Hubs said it wouldn't work without adding some support through the ceiling, bumping up the roof, and while that could be done, it probably wasn't worth it. Well, I love my husband but I needed to hear it form the horse's mouth, so to speak. (He was not part horse, at least as far as I know...)
The nice contractor just looked at me when I asked him this question. Kind of like, "Is she really asking me this?" I suppose he didn't laugh because I was dead serious. Like a child with a crazy plan, I needed to hear his voice. His answer. In my minds eye he knew everything. It's what I do. I am now working on making my daughter's bedroom bigger using our entryway. I know it can be done.
So all this furniture moving makes a girl kinda crazy and a bit grumpy. And a lot sentimental. You see, I agreed to homeschool last year. (I agree with you God. Remind me of this when things get crazy tiring soon, K?) Well, this mama wanted to just survive the first year. Buy a table, make space, get a bookcase. Don't go crazy. There. Done and Done and sometimes done. We home schooled. Now we are doing it again this year. Things are feeling more settled, permanent. So I am settling into my role as teacher/mama/nutritionist/driver/coach/hugger/lover of all things pink. That is one role. All in one. And it makes me have different personalities, at least it seems. It's not from my kids. It's God. And like my pulling weeds post, I am only getting stronger.
I have a strong woman who has gone before me. My mother. She taught for 32 years. She retired and gave me all her best teaching stuff. After 32 years, you have quite the collection. So I saved it all. In the garage, the attic, upstairs, downstairs, in my closet. Bathroom closet? I better go check...
Saved it all. I also saved all my teaching stuff from 5 years of mostly giggles with children. That's what I did because they were the best. And I have married all her stuff, all my stuff, and all my daughter's homeschool stuff into one gigantic shelving unit stacked ceiling high.
I held each and every one of my mom's teaching materials. Looked through it. Saw her notes, years of teaching notes. Kids names every now and then. Some things she highlighted just for one child. Just for one she planned sometimes. That was a different era. Schools have changed. I'm not going to hover here, but it used to be different being an educator.
Some were old artifacts- from when she started teaching. When schools were still segregated. When she taught that year segregation was undone. And that same year she married my dad and had to leave mid-year- leaving that one African American boy she worried about. What would the classroom look like for him brand new to the classroom? He was the only one and goodness knows teachers are part mothers. (Just a note- it's an unspoken thing and against teacher code of ethics to leave mid-year. And my mom was super dedicated to her profession. In fact she can't get away to this day...I suppose marrying my dad was the only thing that has ever stopped her.)
And it's history I have. It's the old phonics texts she used. It's my "love in any language" materials from teaching English as a Second Language. It's my newer materials I have for my daughter that we now laugh through. (I will admit we have cried through too and stopped and picked back up because no one needs to get to a place where we all hate learning.) It's all married into this gigantic colorful elementary school looking mess of books from different times, teaching theories, styles, all good. The stuff I never wanted to be my home "decorations". I continue to save, consult, compare, and teach from these things. It's good stuff. Good enough to keep, save, and keep teaching long after my girls are grown. Because it's what I do.
And I love how God writes our story this way. Moments made into memories, placed on a shelf and before you know it these things create your story. Create your life. How you see others. And sometimes it doesn't always go the way you thought it would. And you talk to God about "our plan" and realize it was never yours to begin with. It's a surprise around every corner, looking at God wondering what will be next, knowing you will be taken care of. That's what he does.
And I'm hoping my girls remember my time gently instructing them. And giggles and hard times that make us closer and I'm sorrys and will you forgive mes. And I hope they learn. Not to be scholars, although that's fine too, but growing into the young women God created them to be. "I love you warts and all" as my mom says...
And my precious girls, if you are reading this, you do not remember mommy throwing dinner together in a hurry, naked, with a towel wrapped around her head, running around crazy to get somewhere on time. Because that right there is just plain crazy talk.
So my mother always says to never say never. She also quotes my grandmother who said "It's easier to go up than down." Who lived the depression and knew what wants and needs really were. And every year I get it in my head I want to move massive amounts of furniture around the house, things going up the stairs, things coming down, and all remade. Because I like to create. And God was gracious enough to give me a strong (hot- yes I know you are red-faced, my love), patient, spontaneous husband. We are furniture moving. The kind where you don't have play dates over not because it's messy but because they can't fit through the blocked door. Or find their toys. Or their shoes to escape. Or the bathroom so they go on the floor. (Ok, I will pause to say this almost happened to me, not visitors.)
I like to create, reorganize. As a matter of fact if you are reading this blog and I've been in your house, I have probably reorganized it, remodeled it, and redecorated it. In my freakin head. Not that I disagree with your taste or whatever, it's just what I do. I lie in bed at night and dream up scenarios in my head. HGTV in my head. It is my happy place.
So we have this ridiculous waste of space 14 ft bedroom ceiling. One time we had a contractor come over to give us a quote on some shelving. I had previously told my husband that I was going to ask him about my big plan. This plan involved shortening our waste of space 14ft bedroom ceiling and using dead space above it, redoing the whole dern thing and making a storage/craft room above it. Brilliant, right? Hubs said it wouldn't work without adding some support through the ceiling, bumping up the roof, and while that could be done, it probably wasn't worth it. Well, I love my husband but I needed to hear it form the horse's mouth, so to speak. (He was not part horse, at least as far as I know...)
The nice contractor just looked at me when I asked him this question. Kind of like, "Is she really asking me this?" I suppose he didn't laugh because I was dead serious. Like a child with a crazy plan, I needed to hear his voice. His answer. In my minds eye he knew everything. It's what I do. I am now working on making my daughter's bedroom bigger using our entryway. I know it can be done.
So all this furniture moving makes a girl kinda crazy and a bit grumpy. And a lot sentimental. You see, I agreed to homeschool last year. (I agree with you God. Remind me of this when things get crazy tiring soon, K?) Well, this mama wanted to just survive the first year. Buy a table, make space, get a bookcase. Don't go crazy. There. Done and Done and sometimes done. We home schooled. Now we are doing it again this year. Things are feeling more settled, permanent. So I am settling into my role as teacher/mama/nutritionist/driver/coach/hugger/lover of all things pink. That is one role. All in one. And it makes me have different personalities, at least it seems. It's not from my kids. It's God. And like my pulling weeds post, I am only getting stronger.
I have a strong woman who has gone before me. My mother. She taught for 32 years. She retired and gave me all her best teaching stuff. After 32 years, you have quite the collection. So I saved it all. In the garage, the attic, upstairs, downstairs, in my closet. Bathroom closet? I better go check...
Saved it all. I also saved all my teaching stuff from 5 years of mostly giggles with children. That's what I did because they were the best. And I have married all her stuff, all my stuff, and all my daughter's homeschool stuff into one gigantic shelving unit stacked ceiling high.
I held each and every one of my mom's teaching materials. Looked through it. Saw her notes, years of teaching notes. Kids names every now and then. Some things she highlighted just for one child. Just for one she planned sometimes. That was a different era. Schools have changed. I'm not going to hover here, but it used to be different being an educator.
Some were old artifacts- from when she started teaching. When schools were still segregated. When she taught that year segregation was undone. And that same year she married my dad and had to leave mid-year- leaving that one African American boy she worried about. What would the classroom look like for him brand new to the classroom? He was the only one and goodness knows teachers are part mothers. (Just a note- it's an unspoken thing and against teacher code of ethics to leave mid-year. And my mom was super dedicated to her profession. In fact she can't get away to this day...I suppose marrying my dad was the only thing that has ever stopped her.)
And it's history I have. It's the old phonics texts she used. It's my "love in any language" materials from teaching English as a Second Language. It's my newer materials I have for my daughter that we now laugh through. (I will admit we have cried through too and stopped and picked back up because no one needs to get to a place where we all hate learning.) It's all married into this gigantic colorful elementary school looking mess of books from different times, teaching theories, styles, all good. The stuff I never wanted to be my home "decorations". I continue to save, consult, compare, and teach from these things. It's good stuff. Good enough to keep, save, and keep teaching long after my girls are grown. Because it's what I do.
And I love how God writes our story this way. Moments made into memories, placed on a shelf and before you know it these things create your story. Create your life. How you see others. And sometimes it doesn't always go the way you thought it would. And you talk to God about "our plan" and realize it was never yours to begin with. It's a surprise around every corner, looking at God wondering what will be next, knowing you will be taken care of. That's what he does.
And I'm hoping my girls remember my time gently instructing them. And giggles and hard times that make us closer and I'm sorrys and will you forgive mes. And I hope they learn. Not to be scholars, although that's fine too, but growing into the young women God created them to be. "I love you warts and all" as my mom says...
And my precious girls, if you are reading this, you do not remember mommy throwing dinner together in a hurry, naked, with a towel wrapped around her head, running around crazy to get somewhere on time. Because that right there is just plain crazy talk.
Friday, July 5, 2013
High Dive
So I just showered the sticky nasty mess off my body from sweating off my body weight at Champs tonight and I feel the need to blog so here we go...
Well, if you follow this blog you know my girls are on the swim team for the first time and I am head over heels in love with being a swim team parent. Well, it's because my oldest loves it and well, who doesn't love to see their kiddo happy, right? She loves, it delights me, so I love. It's a love cycle. It ends when the money or time runs out but until then, we all love together.
Tonight was Champs, all city swim meet, held at my beloved university. It does belong to me as it holds real estate in my heart. It's true. And while I can say I did pass my swim test (freshman year, yes I took it that early) in the other cruddy gym pool where the common folk had to swim, I coveted the bigger, nicer, swim team pool my daughter was privileged to swim in tonight. It's across the path from our beloved basketball coach's office and is decked out in the most beautiful shade of blue I have ever seen.
I'm not sure I prepared my oldest for what would happen. I relayed how the schedule would go, I would be in the stands, etc. Important stuff. But I had never been there before and this swim stuff is new to me. Well, we entered the room and her words were, "Oh my, mommy! Look at that high diving board!!" I just knew if someone let her, she would jump off. I'm telling you she is part crazy fish and gets the crazy part from her baby daddy's side.
And then, well, I felt a story coming on and here I blog up way past my bedtime...
I had this freshman year roommate. She was this petite, cute, 6 pack (did she have an 8 pack? I can't remember but probably..) gymnast that I am proud to know. She was amazing. We once pulled an "all nighter" studying for finals together and she took study breaks to do handstands, calf raises, sit ups, fun gumby stuff my freshman 15 couldn't handle. She was determined and she worked hard. Really hard. Well she needed to change her gymnast career and transfer to another school for her major. She was still interested in sports, so she decided to try out for her new school's diving team. No experience diving, I tell you.
She would get up before her summer job, before the sun came up, and run miles and miles to train. She trained all summer. Come fall, she tried out for the team and she did it. I wasn't surprised. She is gifted. And she married a fellow swimmer and they have four swimming boys. Truly part fish:) And she puts her mind to things and does them. From the history of our friendship, she does them well. Like every year remembers my birthday with a card. Wherever she has lived through the years, having one child, then another, then twins, then four boys in the same house (oh my word!) she always remembers. And I get her cards and I remember each time something she said to me a long time ago.
I remember in college running with her, wanting the motivation to exercise more and to Dear Lord make this extra luggage go away, and asking her, "Can you give me some of your motivation?" She replied, "Nope. You have to get some yourself." And I have never forgotten that. Ever.
It is a true thing. There is no one that can give motivation. Internal motivation is so much more gratifying and satisfying and permanent than external. But there is one secret to it: enjoying what you do. It's easy for me to say that I need to exercise, but I have to actually do it to feel the release of tension, endorphins, satisfaction. I have to step out in faith to say, "God, I know I'm not perfect, but you are. Here I am." And to nurture our relationship and be in his presence to know him more.
And I forget all the time. But I've got this really great Friend who places these really great people in my path to remind me of his truths. And I'm thankful and determined.
Well, if you follow this blog you know my girls are on the swim team for the first time and I am head over heels in love with being a swim team parent. Well, it's because my oldest loves it and well, who doesn't love to see their kiddo happy, right? She loves, it delights me, so I love. It's a love cycle. It ends when the money or time runs out but until then, we all love together.
Tonight was Champs, all city swim meet, held at my beloved university. It does belong to me as it holds real estate in my heart. It's true. And while I can say I did pass my swim test (freshman year, yes I took it that early) in the other cruddy gym pool where the common folk had to swim, I coveted the bigger, nicer, swim team pool my daughter was privileged to swim in tonight. It's across the path from our beloved basketball coach's office and is decked out in the most beautiful shade of blue I have ever seen.
I'm not sure I prepared my oldest for what would happen. I relayed how the schedule would go, I would be in the stands, etc. Important stuff. But I had never been there before and this swim stuff is new to me. Well, we entered the room and her words were, "Oh my, mommy! Look at that high diving board!!" I just knew if someone let her, she would jump off. I'm telling you she is part crazy fish and gets the crazy part from her baby daddy's side.
And then, well, I felt a story coming on and here I blog up way past my bedtime...
I had this freshman year roommate. She was this petite, cute, 6 pack (did she have an 8 pack? I can't remember but probably..) gymnast that I am proud to know. She was amazing. We once pulled an "all nighter" studying for finals together and she took study breaks to do handstands, calf raises, sit ups, fun gumby stuff my freshman 15 couldn't handle. She was determined and she worked hard. Really hard. Well she needed to change her gymnast career and transfer to another school for her major. She was still interested in sports, so she decided to try out for her new school's diving team. No experience diving, I tell you.
She would get up before her summer job, before the sun came up, and run miles and miles to train. She trained all summer. Come fall, she tried out for the team and she did it. I wasn't surprised. She is gifted. And she married a fellow swimmer and they have four swimming boys. Truly part fish:) And she puts her mind to things and does them. From the history of our friendship, she does them well. Like every year remembers my birthday with a card. Wherever she has lived through the years, having one child, then another, then twins, then four boys in the same house (oh my word!) she always remembers. And I get her cards and I remember each time something she said to me a long time ago.
I remember in college running with her, wanting the motivation to exercise more and to Dear Lord make this extra luggage go away, and asking her, "Can you give me some of your motivation?" She replied, "Nope. You have to get some yourself." And I have never forgotten that. Ever.
It is a true thing. There is no one that can give motivation. Internal motivation is so much more gratifying and satisfying and permanent than external. But there is one secret to it: enjoying what you do. It's easy for me to say that I need to exercise, but I have to actually do it to feel the release of tension, endorphins, satisfaction. I have to step out in faith to say, "God, I know I'm not perfect, but you are. Here I am." And to nurture our relationship and be in his presence to know him more.
And I forget all the time. But I've got this really great Friend who places these really great people in my path to remind me of his truths. And I'm thankful and determined.
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