The Parent 'Hood

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Interruption

On the surface, I was a good parent last night. I made dinner, watched Phineas and Ferb with the kids ("In ancient Egypt, both men and women wore make-up!" "Oh, just like the 80s!"), I played firefighters with Kieran, I cleaned up the kitchen.

But underneath, I squirmed and chafed. I'd been writing in my head all day, all weekend. And now, at 6:00 on a Sunday night, I was ready to put aside the parenting and lose myself in words. I had so many ideas zooming around in my head, I wasn't even sure I could catch them anymore. They seemed to pick up speed with every passing moment.

Distracted. Outwardly present, inwardly remote. I missed sentences, replied absent-mindedly. The grilled cheese sandwiches ended up a little too brown.

And then it was bedtime. I've looked at this from every angle and tried all kinds of calculations, so trust me when I tell you - there is no quick way to put four kids to bed when solo parenting. It just takes time, and lots of it. Bubble bath giving, hair detangling, shower reminding, pajama zipping, teeth brushing, book reading, snuggle giving, hearts praying. It takes at least 90 minutes at my house, usually two plus hours.

By the time the little kids were asleep, it was after 10:00. I headed to the big kids room to pray, the finish line in sight. My pulse quickened. Almost there.

But when I walked into Natalie's room, I could sense she wanted to talk for a few minutes. There was nothing pressing; she just needed some one-on-one time without the constant interruptions that is life in a family of six. So we talked. And I listened. And she told me about the stories she makes up in her head to ease her way into dreamland. ("I really liked the time I imagined I was in the movie 'Sky High.' I was Will's sister, but Royal Pain had turned me into a back into a baby with the Pacifier after he was born, so I was his big sister and his little sister!") I prayed over her, a long prayer, thanking God for the blessing of her, asking God to give her an unquenchable appetite for goodness and grace and loving well, and I kissed my big girl good night, inhaling the heavy scent of her still-wet hair.

Then I walked down the dark hallway to Connor's room, where I found my 9-year-old on his top bunk, wearing an army hat and playing with his markers. Connor always wants to talk at night; it's my night-owl DNA he inherited, it feels hypocritical to be annoyed. So we talked too, and he read me many stories out of his new Big Nate books, always pleading, "Just one more, Mom! Just one more!" And then I prayed over Connor, thanking God for the gift of him, asking God to grow him into a strong warrior, who fights for justice and truth. He yawned just as I said, "Amen!" I said, "I love you, Connor" and walked out of his room with a smile.

Just as I suspected, I lost my words in the long trek to bed. The swirling ideas in my head faded and slipped away. I could see their shadows, but I couldn't reach them anymore.

And all of a sudden, I didn't care.

Welcome to The Parent 'Hood, a weekly blog round-up of all things parenting. I co-host this carnival every Monday , along with a rotating cast of some of my favorite blogging buddies, including but not limited to, (FriedOkra, Vita Familiae, To Think is To Create, Joy in this Journey, Lovefeast Table and O My Family). Post your link using the tool below, and your post will show up instantly on all the host blogs.

A few bits and pieces:
1. Today’s link-up will run from this morning through next Sunday night. A new link-up will start next Monday morning.
2. Link the unique URL of your parenting post, not the homepage of your blog. Otherwise, your parenting post will get buried under new content on your homepage and be hard to find when readers click through later in the week.
3. We ask that you please include a link somewhere in your post back to The Parent 'Hood, via this post or The Parent 'Hood welcome post on any of the other hosting blogs.
4. If you're on Twitter, hashtag Parent 'Hood posts with #TheParentHood.
5. Share your own posts and read and comment on other blogs. Any good 'hood is all about community, right? Read, comment and enjoy as you have time.

Me and my Shadow

I have this shadow.

It follows me wherever I go. Sometimes, it lags behind. It might take a few minutes to catch up to my new location.

But it always reappears.

Especially when I sit at the computer for a few minutes. Or try to cook dinner. Or take a shower.

It is my constant companion.

It isn't a perfect copy. It's about half my size and it has way more energy than me.

And it talks different. It says like things like, "Hi Mama! You taking shower, Mama? You on da compooter Mama? Wook at me, Mama! I firefighter Kieran!"

It even appears at my side in the middle of the night, with a hand on my face and a tousled head on my shoulder.

Occasionally, my shadow disappears. Sometimes it's because it's playing Legos or reading a book or building a train track.

But more likely, it's because that shadow is climbing a counter stool to get into the treats cabinet and stuff handfuls of mini peppermint marshmallows in its ample cheeks. Or maybe it can be found pouring an entire bottle of bubble bath into the tub. Or maybe it's coloring on the legs of the kitchen table or dialing the phone or digging in the house plants in search of secret treasure.

I don't like it when my shadow disappears.

I prefer to keep it close to me. That's the point of a shadow, after all. It's always there, invited or not. It's steadfast and devoted and perfectly happy just to be with you.

Funny thing about shadows: when they show up, the sun shines.

Welcome to The Parent 'Hood, a weekly blog round-up of all things parenting. I host this carnival every Monday (er, sometimes Tuesday), along with some of my favorite blogging buddies (FriedOkra, Vita Familiae, To Think is To Create, Joy in this Journey, Lovefeast Table and O My Family). Post your link using the tool below, and your post will show up instantly on all the host blogs.

A few bits and pieces:
1. Today’s link-up will run from this morning through next Sunday night. A new link-up will start next Monday morning.
2. Link the unique URL of your parenting post, not the homepage of your blog. Otherwise, your parenting post will get buried under new content on your homepage and be hard to find when readers click through later in the week.
3. We ask that you please include a link somewhere in your post back to The Parent 'Hood, via this post or The Parent 'Hood welcome post on any of the other hosting blogs.
4. If you're on Twitter, hashtag Parent 'Hood posts with #TheParentHood.
5. Share your own posts and read and comment on other blogs. Any good 'hood is all about community, right? Read, comment and enjoy as you have time.

Without You

photo courtesy 1000 Words Photography

Solo parenting is grueling work.

Because of his new job, Corey has been home only four weeks since August. The kids and I are finding our stride, learning how to thrive in this environment instead of just survive it. This is my life; to grit my teeth and push through with grim determination would be to despise the gift.

But there's no denying it's exhausting to parent four kids alone, day after day after day. I'm the only adult around to make the meals, break up fights, give the baths, read the books, laugh at the jokes, listen to the stories. It's just a lot to do, and most nights, I fall into bed thoroughly spent.

But I have found something that makes solo parenting even harder - the dryness of being disconnected from my spouse.

I fist noticed the parched surface of my own soul in September, about the time I wrote this post. I felt weary to the core, drained. A Southern friend might say plain tuckered.

To be sure, no one expects to have loamy top soil in this stage of life. This is the time of sowing and weeding, a season of work. But I started to notice it wasn't just the surface that was parched. My well was dry. There was no refreshment in the deep places.

And that's when I realized: I miss my husband. I don't just miss his help with the kids or his companionship at the end of a long day. I miss him. I miss our closeness, I miss our jokes, I miss the knowing and the being known. We were growing apart, as quietly and steadily as two boats without oars.

This realization hit me like a bolt.

Corey and I are good at living separate lives. We did it for years before we had kids. He worked long hours for his job, I worked weird hours for mine. We drifted. We got used to being roommates. We grew accustomed to a dry, barren relationship. We could function as a team to take care of the house, pay the bills, even lead the young marrieds class at church. But there was nothing behind the mask.

We didn't like it; no one gets married and hopes for an empty shell of a relationship. But we accepted it as normal. Everyone has struggles, right?

And then God used a variety of circumstances to burn our false front to the ground. Nothing remained but ash. We mourned, with broken hearts and deep humility.

Funny thing about firestorms, though: they leave behind fertile ground. When the new growth began to appear, we could scarcely believe the blessing of a second chance. The last nine years have been the best of our marriage, because now we know that we squandered our first 10 with indifference and resentment. Now we know what can happen if we aren't intentional about letting God deal with us, if we aren't intentional about staying connected. If we don't love each other well.

I say all this so you understand my horror when I recognized the dryness of my soul. It wasn't because I was busy (I was) or the kids were whiny (they were) or I wasn't getting enough sleep (I wasn't). The underlying problem, the root of it all, was the lack of togetherness with my spouse. Nothing could make up for that, and without it, nothing else seemed to work.

Thankfully, once we had a diagnosis, Corey and I were able to tackle the problem together, and today, we are working on keeping connected even while apart. We don't want to go back.

After 20 years together, even in the lean seasons, he is the other half of me.

Maybe this is what is meant when God says he'll make you one.

Big Boy Bed

It happened so fast, I didn't have time to dread it.

After yet another night of Kieran thrashing between us, Corey announced one morning, "I think Kieran's ready for a big boy bed!"

And instantly, I knew he was right.

Kieran had been waking up at 3:00 AM for months, disoriented and calling for mama. I was too exhausted to deal with it at that hour, so I would scoop him out of his crib, carry him back to my bed and sleep restlessly the rest of the night as he cuddled and nuzzled and tossed and kicked his way to 6:30 AM.

It wasn't the best sleep, but it wasn't the worst either. This tired mama can sleep through just about anything, including a knee in the ribs and a finger in the ear.

But Corey, who sleeps in a hotel bed almost as often as his own, wasn't as amenable. So it was he who gently reminded me that all our kids did this between age 2 and 3, that the best solution was to get them into a twin bed so I could climb in with them when they need some midnight snuggles, and eventually, they would start sleeping through the night again without mama skin contact.

So, in a matter of days, we bought a bed frame, a mattress, a waterproof mattress cover (for lo, the potty training days are still ahead) and bedding that is so perfectly little boy, I almost clapped my hands in delight. (Pottery Barn Kids has my number. That's all I will say about that.)

And then Corey started to disassemble the crib, and my heart started to come apart too.

That crib, it was never really my style, being a hand-me-down and all. And it's a bear to move, seeing as the bolts have to be inserted one way and tightened another.

But it faithfully cradled each of my babies, and I've spent hours and hours of my life bent over its side rail, stroking little heads and whispering quiet lullabies. I've contorted my arm to fit in the side, when Kieran and Teyla just had to hold my hand while falling asleep. It's been a symbol in our home these last 10 years, of our stage of life and of our blessings.

And now it was being taken down for the last time.

But I didn't have much time for melancholy, because when Kieran first beheld his new bed, he almost exploded with joy.

"It's mah big boy bed! Mah big boy bed!" he shouted over and over as he bounced with utter delight. "And dis a crane! And a dumm truck! And a ex-cob-ator! I wuv mah big boy bed!"

Who can resist that?

Time is relentless. Part of my heart will always lie with the crib, now stacked patiently in the guest room, awaiting a new family.

But a bigger part of my heart is right here, with the big boy, in his big boy bed.

Welcome to The Parent 'Hood, a weekly blog round-up of all things parenting. I host this carnival every Monday, along with some of my favorite blogging buddies (FriedOkra, Vita Familiae, To Think is To Create, Joy in this Journey, Lovefeast Table and O My Family). Post your link using the tool below, and your post will show up instantly on all the host blogs. (How cool is that?)

A few bits and pieces:
1. Today’s link-up will run from this morning through next Sunday night. A new link-up will start next Monday morning.
2. Link the unique URL of your parenting post, not the homepage of your blog. Otherwise, your parenting post will get buried under new content on your homepage and be hard to find when readers click through later in the week.
3. We ask that you please include a link somewhere in your post back to The Parent 'Hood, via this post or The Parent 'Hood welcome post on any of the other hosting blogs.
4. If you're on Twitter, hashtag Parent 'Hood posts with #TheParentHood.
5. Share your own posts and read and comment on other blogs. Any good 'hood is all about community, right? Read, comment and enjoy as you have time.

Family Pictures

If a picture is worth a thousand words, a family picture is worth a million.

And even then, it only tells part of the story.

A few weeks ago, on a warm Friday in September, one of our dear friends drove from Wisconsin to take our family photos.

We ended up with several shots worthy of a Christmas card.

But those photos are a mere snapshot, a frozen second in time.

They don't tell the whole story.

Behind the scenes, Kieran was having a rough day. He hadn't taken a nap at home, opting instead to sleep in the car during the afternoon school drive. He woke up about half an hour before our session began, cranky and disoriented, liable to burst into tears at the slightest provocation, sucking his finger like it was a drug.

Teyla was grumpy too, but her scowl was due to our photographer, Nicole, having the nerve to be married to Josh, Teyla's true love. So instead of being amiable, Teyla spent our entire time together scowling and glaring at Nicole. The only way we could get her to smile was to tickle her, or let Nicole frame the shot, then have Josh click the shutter.

It was hard work. And not the best time of our lives.

But you know what? Our family does not let the grumpy win. It was so bad, it started to get funny. I started to laugh at the absurdity of it all.

We started to get goofy.

Which begat "let's beat each other with the letters that spell family."

And then Kieran decided he was so over this photography thing.

So we took one last picture and called it a day.

But you know what? It's all good. This is us. We aren't just the polished, smiling family on the Christmas card. There is so much more to our story. One photo can't tell it all.

And that's OK with me. Because the beauty of life is writing this story story together, one day, one snapshot, at a time.

Photos courtesy 1000 Words Photography and the incomparable Nicole Wilke

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The Fish

Once upon a time (read: this weekend), my family visited Petsmart.

But lo, this was more than an errand. Given the level of animal love in my children, any trip to Petsmart is a full-fledged event, complete with shrieks of joy at the presence of actual hamsters and tears of devastation when, once again, the children are informed we are not adopting a cat.

(I've had a cat before. I don't need that much condescention from a creature that sheds more than me.)

Technically, the purpose of our visit was to buy fresh dog treats. But the real agenda was to see the wild critters.

Kieran ran into the store, head down, arms pumping and then stopped and shouted, "Let's DO dis ting!"

Then he ran to the birds, shrieking, "WOOK MAMA! BIRDS!" Because who would expect to find the same parakeets at the pet store every time you go?!?

The kids wandered from section to section. A kind employee, who was tending to the reptiles, let us hold some geckos and a small bearded dragon. Natalie, Connor and Teyla eventually took up residence in the cat jail, where rows of adoptable cats (oxymoron) sat peering through the bars with suspicion. Kieran entered the room and was so overcome with joy ("CATS! MAMA! KITTIES MAMA! MEOW! MEOW!") that the cats went into full arrogance mode, glaring at the loud intruder. One even jumped up on its litter box and glowered.

Kieran and I left to visit the fishes.

He was equally enamored by the wall of blue. He peered and laughed and pointed to each little tank.

And then I had a flashback:

Kieran, last spring. Same wall of blue. I turn, to ask an employee a question. When I turn back, Kieran has both arms fully submerged in a low-lying tank. "FISHES MAMA!" he yells with excitement.

Me, horrified, running in a slow motion. "NOOOO BUDDY! You can't catch the fish!"

Minuscule goldfish in a frenzy, swimming away from gigantic chubby hands.

I scoop him away from the tank. Dry his hands on my shirt. "Kieran! No! The fish need to stay here."

"Dis one?" he asks innocently, holding out a little fist that has A TINY GOLD TAIL STICKING OUT OF IT!

OH MY FREAKIN' WORD, CHILD!

Me, running in slow motion, back to the tank. Opening chubby fist, shaking tiny goldfish back into the water.

Me, running out of store with wet-handed, sad little boy, vowing never to return.

End flashback.

Gather the family quickly. End Petsmart trip.

And the cats rejoiced.

Playing Catch Up

Today is my son's 9th birthday.

I am not prepared for the party tonight.

Yesterday, we dismantled the crib and set up a big boy bed for my two-year-old.

I forgot to buy a mattress pad while I was at Target, and the sheets we thought we purchased were actually duvet covers.

My daughter wore her new shoes to church yesterday morning. I got them on clearance at the end of last winter.

They don't fit. She's grown three sizes in a year. I didn't see that coming.

Sometimes, parenting feels like an endless game of catch-up. I'm always trying to stay ahead of the curve. I pack lunches the night before, I sign school papers as soon as they come home. I try to notice when we're running low on diapers so I can get them during a regularly scheduled Target run, and not have to make a separate trip. I meal plan. I run a mean To Do List.

Which is to say: I try. I try hard. And sometimes, I succeed. But most of the time, I can't seem to gain traction. I make progress in this area, only to slide back in that one. I delight one child and disappoint another.

I buy shoes a season ahead. And then they don't fit.

It's tough on a mom's ego, especially when she's spun plates at warp speed for her career. Can managing the lives of four kids really be more harrowing than producing a newscast during sweeps month?

The answer, I'm sorry to say, is yes.

As a mom, I'm always on call. I'm always in charge. If something goes wrong, I'm the one who needs to fix it. I find the missing headband, register for skating lessons, buy the fleece gloves before the first snow falls.

The good news is, the smile on my children's face when they see that birthday cake, that new dresss, the Angry Birds bandages, well, that means more to me than any paycheck.

In the end, I won't remember the crazy day I have in front of me, getting ready for Connor's party, all the cleaning and baking, the present wrapping and detail snatching. I'll just remember the celebration itself, the laughter and the ice cream, the Wii games and the love.

And I did remember to throw a handful of confetti into his lunchbox last night.

I haven't lost the game entirely. Booyah.

Fashion Update

Clothes have always been inconsequential to my oldest daughter.

Even after she could dress herself, Natalie happily wore whatever I laid out for her. I would find a cute outfit, hold it up for her approval and she would obligingly shrug, "Sure, Mom. If you like it."

It's a good place to be, as a mom.

No battles over clothing. No refusal to wear what I buy. No "I don't like that color" or "This tag is itchy" or "I don't wear plaid." I was free to indulge my own whims, choose whatever I thought was cute.

Until now.

Last week, I bought an outfit for for Natalie at Gymboree, one of my all-time favorite kids' clothing stores. At 11, Natalie has almost sized out of Gymboree clothes. But when I saw this shirt-and-jeans combo, it was so sunny and cheerful, I immediately thought of her.

I bought it, brought it home and showed it to her as soon as she get home from school.

"What do you think?" I asked, expectantly.

She grimaced ever so slightly. "It's cute, Mom. But it's not really me."

And I saw, in an instant, she was right.

That outfit is not right for a sixth-grader, especially not a sporty, tomboy sixth grader who would rather climb a tree or read a book than worry about looking cute.

Natalie is growing into herself. She's learning who she is - and who she's not. And naturally, that trickles down into what she wears. She's spurned my suggestions to wear boots, claiming only girls who care about boys wear boots. She's decided skirts aren't practical for school; how can one do flips on the monkey bars with a skirt? And she's adamant she wants her hair long and straight, for no discernible reason.

That's not to say Natalie doesn't care how she looks. She dresses in fun jeans and t-shirts most days, and she is thrilled when I buy her anything purple (her favorite color) or anything with a touch of glitter. She jumps on any opportunity to get a pedicure, and she is growing more conscious every day of her reflection in the mirror.

If fashion is defined as what you wear reflecting who you are, then it's time for a fashion update.

Natalie is not a little girl anymore. But she's tuned in to who she's becoming, and she likes herself.

It's a good start for style.

Marathon

I am tired.

I realize a mother of four saying she's tired is about as newsworthy and shocking as the latest poll results. ("Obama's in the lead still? You don't say!")

But this tiredness isn't the day-to-day variety. It's deeper. I feel it in my bones. I'm not just tired, I'm weary. Wrung out. Spent.

I told a friend recently that being a stay-at-home mom to young kids must be like running a marathon. There are days when I glance to my side and see breathtaking scenes around me, and I feel my legs pumping, and everything is in a rhythm and I think, "Yes! This! This is what I was made for! I'm fulfilled here! I could run forever! I love this!"

And then there are other days, especially lately, when I feel the length of the race and I stagger and stumble and, even though the scenery is just as amazing, and in my deepest heart, I know I will miss running this race when it is over, I am too exhausted to care much.

I just want a break.

I have been a SAHM for more than a decade now. Eleven years I've been at home with little ones, wiping bums and giving baths, cutting apples and playing Legos. I have savored giggles and laughed at spilled milk (because, really, what else are you doing to do?) and I have wallowed in the blessing of it. God has heard my daily prayer, as it sloshes out of the overflow of my heart. "Thank you, Lord. Thank you. Thank you."

But thankfulness doesn't negate fatigue. I suppose a certain amount of weariness is to be expected in this broken world. Unlimited energy and creative drive is our future, not our present.

So I will continue to run this race. I only have a few miles left, and yes, I know after this one I will start a different race, that of being a mom to school-aged kids and teenagers, but that's a different race for a different season and right now, I need to keep focus here. Today, and tomorrow, and this week, and I will daily seek patience and endurance and joy.

Especially joy.

Because an exhilarating finish deserves nothing less.

Summertime

Outside my window, autumn glows.

Golden sunshine hangs in the air, shadows lay long on the ground. Leaves throw off everyday green and display proud their true beauty. The breeze is crisp, the sky crystal and the apple orchard down the street is turned into amusement park, laden with the bounty of MacIntosh, SweeTango, Honey Crisp and the laughter of children decorated with caramel and grass.

But inside my home? It's summer.

Our family is at a stage of life where everything just flows. My oldest is not yet a teenager, my youngest is no longer a baby. We sleep though the night (mostly). We head to the playground without any extra equipment (save the spare diaper stashed in my purse). We play the same games together, laugh at the same jokes, enjoy each other's company. No one is too old or too young, nothing else intrudes, the innocence covers us all like a blanket.

Fall is a season to harvest, winter a season to endure. In spring, there is more work to be done than hours to do it.

But in summer? Gershwin said it right: In summertime, the livin' is easy.

Summer is a time for enjoying God and others, without reserve and without apology. It's a time for rediscovering the sheer pleasure of simply being alive: waking early or sleeping late, wading lake shores or tenting in rain forests, talking late under starlight or staring silently, for hours, at clouds.

Likewise, the summer of the heart is marked by leisure and pleasure, a kind of holy hedonism. We strive for nothing and yet have everything. We relish abundance without needing to hoard it or feel guilty about it. We heed the counsel that Scripture gives to rich people: don't trust in your wealth, which is so uncertain, but trust in God "who richly provides us with everything for our enjoyment."

In the summer of the heart, we get that: abundance isn't for trusting in. It's for enjoying.
- Spiritual Rhythm: Being with Jesus Every Season of Your Soul, Mark Buchanan

Corey and I, we've endured much. We've known years of famine, when the ground hardened into stone. We've known a firestorm so devastating, the entire landscape lay charred and smoking. And praise Jesus, we've known the rebirth of spring, when the barren bears new life and everything must be done right now, the plowing, the sowing, the watering, the weeding.

But now? It is summer. I make no apologies for drinking every drop.

Welcome to The Parent 'Hood, a weekly blog round-up of all things parenting. I host this carnival every Monday, along with some of my favorite blogging buddies (FriedOkra, Vita Familiae, To Think is To Create, Joy in this Journey, Lovefeast Table and O My Family). Post your link using the tool below, and your post will show up instantly on all the host blogs. (How cool is that?)

A few bits and pieces:
1. Today’s link-up will run from this morning through next Sunday night. A new link-up will start next Monday morning.
2. Link the unique URL of your parenting post, not the homepage of your blog. Otherwise, your parenting post will get buried under new content on your homepage and be hard to find when readers click through later in the week.
3. We ask that you please include a link somewhere in your post back to The Parent 'Hood, via this post or The Parent 'Hood welcome post on any of the other hosting blogs.
4. If you're on Twitter, hashtag Parent 'Hood posts with #TheParentHood.
5. Feel free to grab the code in the box under the graphic above to share the button love!
6. Share your own posts and read and comment on other blogs. Any good 'hood is all about community, right? Read, comment and enjoy as you have time.

The Joke

I think every two-year-old believes it. Diaper changes, no matter now necessary, are the equivalency of water-boarding for toddlers.

"Foul!" they cry, writhing on the changing table. "Foul! This is only happening because you are bigger than me!"

To which I respond, "Foul doesn't even begin to describe this, kid."

Last week, Kieran and I were wrestling through one such diaper change. He was fussing and twisting on the changing table and, maybe most astounding of all, trying to deny reality.

"I not stinky! I not stinky!" he shouted, scowling at me.

I looked at him wryly.

"Buddy, you are stinky! Look!"

I held up the nasty diaper to make my case.

All of a sudden, his entire face burst into a smile.

"I just joking on you, Mama." he said with a grin.

----------

There was a time in my life when I didn't want to be a mom. I saw children as an inconvenience and a disruption. I wanted a life of adventure, a life of meaning. I didn't want to spend my days cleaning up after little people, wiping counters and wiping noses. What a small life, I thought to myself.

What I didn't know then is that children add wonder and joy, and there is no bigger adventure than loving my kids and watching in awe as they become their own people.

Trust me, Kieran. The joke's on me.

I can't believe I almost missed this.

Welcome to The Parent 'Hood, a weekly synchroblog about all things parenting.

Please read these guidelines before linking your post:
1. Today’s link-up will run from this morning through next Sunday night. A new link-up will start next Monday morning.
2. Link the unique URL of your parenting post, not the homepage of your blog. Otherwise, your parenting post will get buried under new content on your homepage and be hard to find when readers click through later in the week.
3. We ask that you please include a link somewhere in your post back to The Parent 'Hood, via this post or The Parent 'Hood welcome post on any of the other hosting blogs.
4. If you're on Twitter, hashtag Parent 'Hood posts with #TheParentHood.
5. Feel free to grab the code in the box under the graphic above to share the button love!
6. Share your own posts and read and comment on other blogs. Any good 'hood is all about community, right? Read, comment and enjoy as you have time.

Denial and the First Day of School

Wednesday of last week, the second day of school, I awoke to a quiet house. I showered, got dressed and set out to wake up the big kids from their summer-induced slumber.

I walked into the kitchen to find Connor, my almost 9-year-old, sitting at the kitchen counter in his slightly-too-small-for-him pajamas and his treasured orange baseball cap. He was swinging his feet from his perch on the stool. His back was to me, but I could see he was playing Poptropica on the laptop, his morning ritual. His summer morning ritual.

Sweetly oblivious to reality. A little stuck in the pleasant past.

With light incredulity I said, "Hey buddy! You need to go get dressed. You have school today, remember?"

He didn't greet the news with joy.

-----

The first day of school each year is something I've come to tacitly dread. Not only does it herald an end to my beloved summer and its carefree ways, but it brings me face to face with something I'd rather ignore: My kids are growing up.

It hits me broadside, because unlike birthdays, that first week in September, all my children grow a year instantly. My goofy little boy, who used to follow me around talking incessantly, is suddenly a 3rd grader, ready to tackle multiplication tables and cursive. And my firstborn, my Natalie, is abruptly moved into a whole new hallway, a 6th grader, with her own locker, that she opens casually and stands next to, talking to her friends, clutching her pile of notebooks and fresh dreams.

Fate is gentle with me; I still have two little ones who leave the school building with me after drop-off. It lessens the sharp sting of time's swiftness. But their presence is bittersweet, because now I'm keenly aware. Teyla starts preschool this year. Next fall, it's kindergarten. And Kieran is only two years behind her. My day are numbered.

When did this happen? How did this happen?

I have been sweetly oblivious to reality. A little stuck in the pleasant past.

I don't greet the news with joy.

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Still, me being a relentless optimist and all, and someone who believes with certainty that these good gifts are but a whisper of the goodness of the Giver, I can't hate the first day of school. It is but a reminder to appreciate the sunrise, to savor every minute.

Besides, denial isn't always a bad thing. Sometimes it just means I'm too busy soaking in the every day to dread what comes next. I'm loving well and living right here, right now, with my kids.

Then again, sometimes, denial really is a river in Egypt.

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Parenting is not for the faith of heart, friends. Which is why I want to welcome you to the 'hood - the Parent 'Hood, to be exact, a new weekly synchroblog that focuses on all things parenting.

I will be hosting this every Monday along with some of my favorite bloggers, including FriedOkra, Vita Familiae, To Think is To Create, Joy in this Journey, Lovefeast Table and O My Family. How does a synchroblog work, you ask? Just write a post about parenting and link it up here or at one of the other host blogs using the linky below, and viola - the link to your post will appear on every site.

Our hope is that, just like in a real neighborhood, this synchroblog will spark some online community. Because we all know, in the 'hood, that smell isn't just the roses. You can read more about our dreams, and get the low down on some details, at Megan's place.