Confirmed

I can confirm that the Three Musketeers have been confirmed.

This was a long process that took place over the past year and a half. It involved a class that met monthly at our church. There were several times that the priest had to separate the boys from one another during confirmation class. They function as a herd when together, and this is never a good thing.

I'll be honest. This was something they did for me. I made them go to confirmation class. I made them get confirmed. And I will make them be acolytes. The funny thing is that during confirmation class, the priest explained numerous times that confirmation was voluntarily - not a rite of passage. That the person must want to confirm their faith. That it differed from baptism when parents and godparents promised things on behalf of the child. Confirmation was not required. "For us it is," The Redhead said, not so much under his breath.

They didn't want to go. Every Sunday that they had class (and this was only once a month, folks) they complained and begged to skip it. And every Sunday I made them. And this is why: I consider it part of their education. I believe knowledge is power in this world and I want them to know about faith and God and have that in their arsenal as they navigate their lives. If they never feel the need to pray, if they never again enter a church as an adult, that is okay with me. But if something in life knocks them flat and they're having a hard time getting up and they can derive some small comfort from a prayer or verse or hymn that comes to them from their childhood when their mother used to make them go to church, then I have done what I set out to do.  

They just endured it, really. They learned things, to be sure, but they weren't excited about it.

As the confirmation date neared, and it was explained to them that a Bishop would be coming to actually perform the ceremony, they took a bit more notice. When I mailed out announcements of their upcoming confirmation, they paid even more attention. And when I asked them what they wanted to eat after the service when family came back to our house, they definitely had opinions.

I wanted to mark the occasion with something special. As you may have gathered, these boys aren't the types that might wear jewelry - certainly not anything of overt religious symbolism. And I'm on board with that. But I also believe that all important events in life can be marked by a visit to James Avery.

So Aquaman and I went to the store closest to us and had a look. There were pocket pieces and keychains that could be personalized. Some even had what I considered tasteful references to scripture. But then we saw this:

A sterling silver money clip. This, they would like. This, they would use. We had each one personalized with a boy's initials on the front and the date of their confirmation on the back. I filled them with money the night before and stacked them on the dining table.

We had a Honeybaked ham and I made potatoes au gratin - their favorite. I also boiled some shrimp and steamed some asparagus, which turned out delicious. We also had about four pans of Sister Schubert's Parker House style rolls, because they're one of the only things Thing 2 will eat. The night before, the boys helped make Rice Krispies dipper treats. And chocolate dipped strawberries. And chocolate dipped marshmallows on a stick. One can never have too many things dipped in chocolate and served on a stick.

Aquaman inspecting the potatoes au gratin.

The thing about the boys being confirmed that I didn't expect is that it would make me sad.

Tying ties for three boys and Aquaman made me miss my father. I am an expert at tying ties because of him. It magnified the absence of my mother. The Episcopal church she raised us in, pictures of my own baptism and confirmation, her recipes that are now part of my own traditions. I was fine until Aquaman told me that his mother had asked, "Will any of Kate's family be there?" and he again explained that we are in fact still not on speaking terms. Two years now.

So there was more confirmed than our three boys that day. It confirmed that I live without the family I was born into. Whether by death or disagreement, we live without one another. That I didn't even have a working number for one of my sisters, much less a mailing address. That I had to admit that I was too scared of being rejected or ridiculed to send them announcements anyway. That families don't always love each other no matter what. And that made me sad.

I wanted to tell everyone there - Aquaman's parents and stepparents, his brother and his wife and their three children - how grateful I was to them for just showing up. How much it means to just show up. But I didn't. Who needs that? I'm no Debbie Downer.  

Chin up, right? Quit being ridiculous.

We didn't get to take many pictures, but here are a few:

Three generations of boy.

The women balance things out, don't you think?

Yes. I'm telling them through clenched teeth that they have to take another picture.

Big Papaw's hand blocking the iPad camera. 

The priest asked me to sit behind them. So as to easily pinch the crap out of them if they got out of line. Which they did.

Thing 2. Removing his tie as quickly as possible.

Thing 1 actually ran from the scene.

We look sorta happy, right? Please disregard my double chin.

I miss Aquaman

He's coming home. I know he is. It won't be much longer. But I still miss him.

He gets one phone call a week. Twenty minutes. It's kind of like he's in jail. Only it's a floating jail in the Gulf of Mexico. And they keep changing how many days he'll be incarcerated. And he gets fed really great Mexican food. Until the fresh vegetables run out. Then it's mostly tough meat in sauce.

First they told him the trip would last 30 to 45 days. Then he figured out this particular captain was known for his frugal use of fuel - stretching it to last a really long time. Then the captain made jokes about having Thanksgiving aboard. Then it was 'a few more weeks'. I finally stopped asking, "How much longer?"

During our weekly phone call, the minutes quickly tick by. He has a satellite phone to make the call. The connection is usually crappy.

We have learned that it is better not to spend precious minutes letting the boys talk because they mostly don't. All of the goings on and exciting things fly right out of their minds when they hear his voice and all they can say is "Good" when he asks them how they are and "Fine" when he asks about school. "I miss you" and "I love you" are popular, as is "When are you coming home?" It is better for me to relay the excitement or drama he has missed.

So far, he has been gone 55 days. During today's call, he said they will come ashore in two more days. Election Day. He probably won't get home in time to vote because he is still a 13-hour-drive away.

We have grown accustomed to him not being here. To not having many outdoor adventures. To my nagging Thing 1 about his fish tank and its upkeep since Aquaman isn't here to oversee it. To me juggling two jobs (three for a few weeks) and getting the boys to drama practice and band practice and to and from friends' houses. I cook a minimal amount - mostly on the weekends. Our groceries are heavy on the convenience foods - things the boys can heat up themselves. The xBox is my nemesis. Sometimes it is my ally, when I need to finish work and the boys play contentedly. Sometimes it is my foe, when I need to finish work and they are fighting over whose turn it is to play alone or who threw down the controller or who screen cheated or, or, or...

I put on his socks the other day when my feet were cold. I wore his sweatshirt when the temperature dipped below 50 degrees. It smells like him. Like salt water and soap. Thing 1 steals his pillow when he is gone. Thing 2 snuck his polar fleece blanket out of our room. But I don't say anything. I understand.

I have to remember to empty all the trash cans and the recycle container the night before trash pickup and get the boys to take the cans to the curb. I have to remind/threaten The Redhead to mow the lawn. I had to change lightbulbs the other day. Sweep the porch. Clean the bathroom. Supervise archery in the back yard. Walk Yellow Dog. Every. Day. Plan solo for birthday parties and presents and cake. Go to the band concert alone. Supervise trick or treating and pumpkin carving. Grocery shop. Help with homework and projects. Algebra is kicking my butt. Make breakfast and pack lunches and make dinner. Read the boys a story at night and kiss them goodnight. There is no day off.

And I know some people - single parents - do this all the time. And they do it well. But it's hard.

It's so hard.

Two. More. Days.

Hollow-een: How old is too old for trick-or-treating?

I think our boys are officially too old for Trick-or-Treat. It's a sad day, me realizing this. Kind of a hollow feeling (Hollow-een. Get it?) But I can't deny the evidence this year:

1) None of them were very excited or interested in costumes. In fact, only at my prompting did two of the three pick out minimal items at a Halloween superstore two days before Halloween. The Redhead chose an Indiana Jones hat and whip. Thing 1 chose a mask from the movie "Scream" - which he has never seen, to my knowledge. Thing 2 grabbed a Groucho Marx pair of glasses (complete with eyebrows, mustache and nose) as we headed out the door Halloween night. He had no idea who Groucho Marx was.

Half-ass costumes. 

2) They chose pillowcases for their treat bags. I'm not kidding. Although they appear jaded about the whole costume thing, they anticipate gobs of candy.

3) They didn't want to go downtown to "Scare on the Square".  They said it was for little kids. Instead, they wanted to wait until it was dusk before venturing out.

This is all so different from previous years. They'd have started knocking on doors as soon as the school bus dropped them off at 3:30, if I would have allowed it.

I know it's partly because we moved from a very small town to a very large one two years ago. The small town had the best Trick or Treating one could hope for. Everyone went to one subdivision that was accessible by one road - this makes for very safe conditions on Halloween night:  one way in, one way out. Most people parked and everyone walked the five cul-de-sac streets that made up the neighborhood.  You didn't have to knock on doors - everyone sat on lawn chairs in their driveway. Adults and children dressed up. The owner of the local BBQ joint handed out chopped BBQ sandwiches and beer to the adults. It was basically a ginormous block party. Even the fire truck parked and the firemen (I told you! Something for everyone! wink, wink!) handed out the holy grail of Halloween candy:  full size candy bars. The boys didn't know how lucky they were until it was gone.

But they're also growing up. I know that happens.  In fact, a real nice woman pointed it out to them while they trick-or-treated this year.  She answered the knock on her door with this question, "Aren't you too old to be trick or treating?"

Thanks a lot, lady.

But The Redhead stood his ground.  As she put a minuscule hard candy in his pillow case (perhaps indicative of the size of her heart, no?), he replied, "I'm 13. Have a nice day!" and beat a hasty retreat.

None of them would knock on any more doors after that. If someone wasn't out on their porch, they just kept walking.

So of course the haul of candy they expected was not realized. Which predicatably resulted in endless comparisons about how much better Halloween was where we lived before.

And I couldn't argue with them. Hell, somebody was actually handing out these:

Please. These belong in oatmeal cookies.

Who hands out RAISINS on Halloween?  What's this world coming to?

So I know I've got to embrace this change.  They're too old to trick-or-treat. But they're just about the perfect age to enjoy getting the crap scared out of them. Luckily, I'm kind of an expert at that.

The weekend before Halloween, I took them on a haunted walking tour of our new town - the one that doesn't compare to the old one, remember? We heard tales of public hangings and hauntings in the park next to our house. We toured restaurants and antique shops and listened to the owners describe plates flying off walls and crashing to the ground and ghostly sightings. The boys were mesmerized.

 Don't they look scared?

Smoke bubbles. Simple pleasures...

Yes, Thing 1 is trying to get away. Yes, I have a tight grip.

We took a similar tour this summer in New Orleans. And while this one in our little historic district didn't quite rise to the level of ghostly tales in the French Quarter, it was still pretty scary.

When we returned home from the less-than-stellar trick or treating this year, we plopped down in front of the TV and watched the movie "Silver Bullet".

This is one of my favorite scary movies from my teenage years. Based on the Stephen King short story, it has a great evil werewolf who must be defeated by two kids and their uncle. The boys loved it. I also picked up "Salem's Lot" on VHS at Goodwill - but it was defective and wouldn't play in our machine. Another Stephen King story, it is a truly terrifying vampire flick. I was subjected to it much younger than the ages my three boys are now and I still have nightmares about it. Maybe it didn't work in our machine for a reason?

I think it's time to introduce them to the world of "Halloween", "The Fog", and "An American Werewolf in London".

These movies were what I lived for in my pre-teen and teenage years. I loved them.  Couldn't get enough. Would stay up watching them with my brothers and sisters, all of us scared silly and sleeping in each other's rooms for days afterwards.

I also own copies of these:

I've already made them watch "The Thing" because John Carpenter is a genius, of course. I'm holding off on "The Exorcist". This is the only movie that can still reduce me to a scared little girl who is afraid to sleep alone. Merely searching Google Images for "The Exorcist" was almost too much for me. Which is why I'm not posting a picture of Reagan here. Because I might wet myself.

I think it's a great idea to introduce my growing-up children to this other side of Halloween by fostering an appreciation for the art form that is the horror movie. I'm a good mom like that.

And to the bitter woman who answered the door and tried to crush my child's spirit on Halloween night:

You are a dumbass. 

And furthermore:

Don't answer the door next time. It's a shame YOUR MOTHER didn't teach you, "If you don't have anything nice to say, don't say anything at all."  Lucky for you, that's what I've taught my children.

Road trip...and so much more

Eight hundred miles.

That's how far it is from Texas to Iowa.

But it feels like so much more than that when someone is sleeping on you.  Just ask Reid.

  Hayden using Reid as a pillow.  Him not pleased.  

Last week, we put the roof rack on my little Scion xB and took off for a high school graduation in Iowa.  This wasn't just any graduation, but one of my dearest friend's daughter's graduation.  No ordinary girl, she is the one who bewitched me with her 2-year-old-self.  The one that I fell in love with.  The one that made me say to Aquaman, "We gotta get one of those!"

Many years and three sons later, I still haven't gotten one.  She's it.  My only girl.

So off we went to see her walk the stage and wish her well.  I first loaded up on college stuff for her - the obligatory hoodie, the pillow pet (You Bet!) in the shape of her soon-to-be mascot, a koozie, and a decal for her car - via the University of Minnesota website.  Their mascot?  The gopher.  Got a lot of mileage out of that one.  

Aquaman and I decided to leave after school Thursday evening.  We figured we'd just drive straight through and hoped the boys would fall asleep at some point.  It wouldn't have been so bad if my throat didn't start hurting Wednesday night.  Then I started sneezing.  I took the first shift, driving from 6:30 to 10:30, realizing that the air conditioner wasn't really blowing cold air.  Besides periodic cries of "It's hot!" and "Can you turn on the air?" from the back seat, things went pretty smoothly.   Then Aquaman took over.  Next thing I knew, it was 2:00 a.m. and I took another shift until 4:00.  Aquaman drove us the rest of the way through fields and fields of corn and soybeans.  We were having migas at our friend's farm house table by 8:30.  Nothing better.

The farm house

The barn

Some large piece of farm equipment

Aquaman and I both took turns napping the whole weekend.  Turns out we're not so tough anymore when it comes to driving all night.  I ended up with a full blown cold and a raging case of PMS.  But it was a wonderful time:  lots of great food and friends and old pictures to look through.  The graduation ceremony was somber.  My God, it was like a funeral.  Except for when I (and one brave accomplice) screamed out "Go Gophers!" as our graduate crossed the stage.  I'm pretty sure I won't be invited to the next kid's graduation.  But it was soooooo worth it.

It was a rite of passage for this sweet girl who is a ray of sunshine to all who know her.  But it was also a rite of passage for me.  One of my dearest friends - the one whom I bonded with during our tenure as Alaska residents  - was once again a model for me.  She had babies first.  She was with me during labor:  we had a secret pact, her and I.  It went something like this:

Me:  You know, if Aquaman flakes out on me, you're it.  I want you there.  Ready to step in if he can't hack it in the delivery room.
Her:  You got it.  I'm your man.
Me:  And if you ever mention this to Aquaman, I will deny that I doubted him.  I will say you are out of your gourd and this conversation never happened.
Her:  I understand.  I'm still your man.

And she was (only now I guess the secret's out).  She stood by the entire time I was in labor, but mostly comforted my mom in the waiting room who was frantically crocheting the baby a blanket and coming unglued every time she heard me scream, while Aquaman came through for me with flying colors.  She was one of the first to hold our sweet baby boy.  She is the reason I persevered with breastfeeding and the reason we taught all of our children Baby Signs (which, if you don't know about, you can read about here).  She held out four years longer than I did in Alaska because she is tough.  So I watched her and her beautiful children and her delightful husband, surrounded by family and friends and love, and tried to take it all in.  To see how she organizes and prepares and accepts help and keeps calm and takes a deep breath and holds her shit together.  And that is what I want to be like.  And I want my children to continue to grow and flourish under our care and to become what her children have become:  caring and capable human beings who aren't concerned or sidetracked by the unimportant, but focused on what matters.  It's quite something to witness.

I returned home to Texas exhausted, but renewed.  The boys went back to school.  Aquaman went back to work.  And I go back to being Momma.  But trying just a little bit harder.  With my eyes on the prize.  Eyes on the prize.