PSA

i interrupt this regularly unscheduled blogpost for a public service announcement: 

i heard the littlest, the last to wake, coming down the stairs. rather than stumble into the kitchen for his daily bowl of wheaties, he walked straight out the front door. i looked out the window in the kitchen and ran down the hall to grab my camera.

first he brought in the dogs who he was sure would bust his rhyme. then he proceeded to swing to his heart content. 

as i watched him, i settled into a conversation i have had and will likely continue to have til the day i die. it's a conversation i have had with mostly with strangers. very ignorant strangers. and sadly a few mildly ignorant friends. it goes a little like this. 

person: whew. all those boys. poor thing. 
me: i love my life. 
person: i'm so sorry you didn't have a girl. 
me: i'm satisfied with the way things are.

similarly, i thought of all the conversations i have had with single friends, barren friends, adoptive friends and friends who do not wish to have children. all of them witnesses to the same kind of ridiculous comments from people who speak from a place of genuine unawareness assuming they have this whole "how to live the perfect life" thing figured out and wish to enlighten the rest of us with their probing questions. 

i've never been asked, "are those your real children?" but i have been asked, "are all those boys yours? all those boys? you weren't blessed with a girl?" or "i'm sorry you missed out on having a girl-just for all the clothes." these questions and comments are always said in the presence of my four boys. and y'all, it needs to stop. 

so if you or someone you know has all boys, or all girls or no kids, for the love of god, keep your comments to yourself.  

i watched my youngest swing himself around barefoot. no wincing about the pine needles under his feet. no drama about what clothes to wear. he, along with his 3 older brothers, are easy going. adventurous, yes. inappropriate at times, duh. fun, usually always. they are polite and rowdy. they are gracious and rude. they are full of funny anecdotes(like fashioning a blow dart gun) and leave a trail of muddy footprints lest i need to find them. they.are.children. and that's what i signed up for when the desire for motherhood came calling, and i decided to answer. i didn't put in an order and when i opened the bag, wished i could send it back. my order was to mother. period. and had i not been able to conceive, i would have found another way. adoption, foster care, or working in an orphanage. there are ways to mother plenty in this world.

when i wished for children, i hoped to have ones who weren't complete jerks. the rest is gravy. and as work and providence had it, our boys are pretty delightful and ridiculously challenging. but this isn't because they are boys. it's because they are humans.

maya angelou once wrote, "if i have a monument in this world, it is my son. he is a joy, a sheer delight." and i agree. four times over.

xo, 

gf 

 

boy crazy

a few weeks ago we were watching one of my favorite films, the fantastic mr. fox. o, have you seen it? wes anderson is the creative genius behind it. and y'all, i swoon over everything wes anderson.{someone paid me the biggest compliment of my career when they told me my household reminded them of the royal tennebaums}.

so anyway, we were watching this movie. it's basically about how we all kind of want to be a little bit fantastic. and it made me think. 

More cowbell on the part of the pep squad.

somewhere between the shock of finding out i was pregnant with our fourth child and said child's fourth birthday, i decided we should have more children. the Mister did not concur. he remembered hearing me saying about 2.1 million times how very overwhelmed, lonely, lost, exhausted, discouraged i felt most of the time. not to mention he was looking at these four little waiting mouths and wondering how he was going to care for them: mind, body and spirit. and that is a daunting task, my friends. daunting. 

and then the mommy fog parted. i could see down the road a bit and contentment set in big time. i realized that four was our final number. in a way.

a while back i wrote this piece. and i have to say, it is even more relevant in my life right now as an older mom to older boys.

extra seats in the car await boys who have no ride to their cross country meet. extra places around a fire. extra fixings for s'mores for boys who have never had s'mores. extra energy to make pumpkin muffins for boys who were reluctant to eat something so weird, but who request them every time they see me. and i am happy to oblige. 

our two oldest boys just finished their first cross country season this past week.{dear jesus, thank you for this!!!} it has been an overwhelming experience. seeing all those boys {one son goes to an all boys school, the other is on a team with just boys}run, hard. beating their previous times. discouraged over their runs. feeling like giving up. it makes my mama's heart feel like bursting a thousand times. 

i have spent months trying to get a boy named travon to smile. i have been trying to discern abdi's accent without making him feel self conscious. i've been wondering about nicknames and family dynamics for quindez. 

spending time with these boys and many more of their running mates has made for the most heart wrenching, delightful and enlightening time in my life. my whole life. 

i sat around a bonfire on friday night. i had just fed close to 30 many of whom were the teammates of our 14 and 12 year old. one asked, "why is there grass on my chicken?"{rosemary} another shared, "there are no homosexuals in kenya because if there are they are burned to death". another hinted that he is being raised by two moms. all around a fire. in my backyard. i supped and laughed and loved on these boys. i couldn't get enough. i really am boy crazy.

as the night dwindled. the coaches had all been thanked. i wrangled the ones who stuck around the longest to help me clean. the casual conversation went from doctor's visits to food choices, sleep habits, ahem dating and language. the language!

a week or so earlier we had all been sitting around waiting for a race to commence. two boys were being quite rude with their choice of words. the mother in me cautiously reminded them that those words are not words that should be used by gentlemen of which they clearly are "and besides, no one really takes you seriously when you use such vulgar speak." they took the correction kindly. clearly they have experienced it from mothers, aunties, grannies. 

these past few months of watching my boys struggle and stride in running and building relationships with their classmates and school culture, i have sat back and reveled at it all. the good. the bad. and the ugly. 

the conversations have been so sweet. i've had to tackle some issues that i touched on earlier with my children, but have only since become part of the middle school/high school landscape as of late. and you know what? it's been really rather grand. 

i am beyond grateful that the creator in his divine graciousness has given me these boys, the ones i birthed and the ones who just happen to be part of our community. and truly, if i had my way, i would take them all. i would find a way to squeeze them into our little-cottage-in-the-hood. but i doubt their families would give them up because they're all pretty fantastic.

xo,

gf

day 8: traveling mercies

back in college when he went to new york with reformed university fellowship, my Mister phoned from the road to say, "i met this girl named betsy. you would really like her." he knew her from young life where they both served as leaders at different high schools, but still closely acquainted. shortly thereafter i moved to knoxville. he introduced me to her again and again until about the third time when he said, "betsy, have you met my girlfriend?" she and i embraced and said, "yes! we are best friends already!" it seems like a million years ago. all those small meetings that seemed inconsequential then, but now i relish. 

it started with one boy...

right after we became friends, betsy introduced us to her boyfriend, a strapping alabama boy with a passion for music and jesus. pretty soon that same boy ended up spending more than a few weekend nights on the sofa of the bachelor pad where my Mister shared an apartment with 3 other guys. josh would drive in on the weekends to see betsy and crash with the guys. the rest is history. she married him. i married mine all within months of one another. they moved to nashville, we followed a year later. 

we were living in married student housing at vanderbilt. josh and betsy lived around the corner. betsy and i would meet a few times a week on the corner of blakemore and hillsboro road after a work day for a walk and a talk. we would cruise through the serpentine streets of hillsboro village dreaming of houses and families that would fill them. 

there is an irish proverb that says, "a man loves his sweetheart the most, his wife the best, but his mother the longest." my friend betsy now has 7 men in her life. one whom she married and 6 to whom she gave birth. all those many years ago, neither of us would have imagined being mothers to all boys: she 6, me 4.

recently her husband graduated with his Ph.D. this is in addition to an M.B.A. and an M.Div. you might say they have lived a lot in the short seventeen years of marriage. and have moved- a lot. i am grateful that there has not been a home of theirs where i haven't visited. if i squint i can see their first apartment in hillsboro village, their married student housing in mississippi, the adorable cottage in clarksdale, their first home in orangeburg, the welcoming porch of their bugalow in louisville and now the magnificent manse of greensboro where we gathered back in july watching all our boys sup and shoot bb guns. 

a couple of weeks ago when she boarded a plane with a newborn and her mother-in-law to celebrate what is the final{?}post graduate degree of her husband, i couldn't help but feel that she too earned that ph.D. she was the one who wrangled boys to the supper table and swept up the crumbs both literally and figuratively. she was the one who kept the home stocked with the midnight oil on hand for those late nights. i am deeply proud of my sweet friend who would be the first to confess she is no saintly pastor's wife. 

over the weekend of her Mister's graduation she texted photographs from his ceremony. i realized so much of our lives as friends have been separated by hundreds of miles. babies born, husbands with career upheavals, deaths. it's hard to believe that the 2 years we spent as neighbors were a flash in the pan compared to the 15 we have kept acquainted despite all the moves and miles. but she has been that faithful friend despite the inconvenience, who managed to drive the detour for a meet up whether it be at the beach, at our family reunion or in our front yard for a quick drive by hug. 

there is another irish blessing that goes: 

May the road rise to meet you, 

May the wind be always at your back, 

  May the sun shine warm upon your face, 

 May the rains fall soft upon your fields, 

And, until we meet again, 

May God hold you in the hollow of His hand

and that is what i wish for my precious friend who i love like a sister and who has sojourned many miles.

...and ended with 10 {baby joseph not pictured}

xo,

gf

post script: if you live in the greensboro, alabama area and are looking for a christian fellowship, consider first presbyterian church. more here.

saved by the bell

you're welcome, future daughter-in-law

the boys have been so kind to me today. one chided, "mom, go lie down. i'll keep everyone on task." one donned an apron to take charge of the kitchen{for a small fee}, bringing me a bell to ring in case i needed anything. one came in to give me a cuddle. and one forgot he had a HUGE biology assignment due today for his science class. 

i am home, sick. our little household has been a bit under the weather as of late. this morning i woke feeling rather crummy. sadly nothing has made me feel better. not yoga. not hot coffee. not resting in bed. not even an uninterrupted hot shower. but it's still early. 

and once all this good attending wanes, i'll be thrown back in to wrestle the monkeys. until that moment comes, i plan to sit in my quiet room. with my bell.

o, before i forget...wanted to show you a little snippet of an amateur{shot by the 13 year old}video the two oldest worked on while we were in philadelphia in september. they approached strangers to ask, "what does it mean to you to be an american?" here is one interview of many. i hope it inspires you to talk to strangers and maybe find your way to the polls{if you haven't already}.

another important bell

xo.

gf

same time next year: an open letter to my father part 3

dear daddy,
thank you for sharing your place at the beach with us last week. we had such a fun time. the boys swam from sunrise to sundown, and they have the little brown bodies to prove it despite my best effort to keep them drenched in spf 50. i wish you could see the callouses on their hands from hanging from the rope swing. they would run over to show me the blisters and then run back to go at it again. 


the ocean was clear and beautiful. the temps never went above the high 80's. it was really a remarkable thing. how could it be cooler on the panhandle than in maryland? a gift for sure. 


we found the sand pails and used them to build grand castles. the boys' masks came in handy as they looked for fish and shells. we found many of both. i sat in my shaded chair with a book {wow!} in hand and gazed out to see my little boy-fish, head down in the water for hours. the simplest of delights. 


one day george took the boogie board you left and coasted out to get a better view of some fins he saw. the delight of the ebb tide distracted us until we looked up to see he had drifted way {WAY!!!} out from us. fortunately, he has your genes and was ecstatic to have such a great view of the dolphins {whew!}. who needs a dolphin cruise when you have a styrofoam board and an adventurous spirit {note to self: must teach caution in school next year}?

i read an entire book-that's a feat!

guess who's great? our grandpapa that's who!

we walked down to the pier. wow. let's just say, those fishermen {and women} are intense. they take their hobby{?} seriously. the boys learned a few new curse words that day. and when that lady and, ahem gentleman nearly got into a fist fight, well, that was just a little unnerving. all over a really big fish too.


we ate some amazing seafood. i cheated on maryland crab cakes with those from the gulf. i must say, i like maryland's better. o, i am so shrimped out. i cannot tell you. 


we missed our usual haunts, so we drove down to say hello to Sundog, the Modicas and the open air market Perspicacity. we had the best chips and salsa and margaritas at the taco stand {remember, we had had too much seafood!}. don't worry. your son-in-law drove me home. speaking of your amazing son-in-law, he took me to la vie est belle
to pick out my anniversary gift. what a guy!

our trip to the beach was splendid. thanks, daddy! i am just like you {when it comes to loving the water}. so why don't you build your grandsons a house on the water? and would you kindly pencil us in for the same time next year? 
xo yourfavoritedaughter gf

riding in cars with boys

one of my favorite memories with my husband was when we were about to embark on a long road trip across the country. as we pulled out of the driveway, i said, "let's talk baby names." we were not even engaged. and we had a long road ahead of us literally and figuratively. 


i guess you could say some of our most meaningful talks have been in the car. it was on that first long road trip out west that we discovered that he had experienced as many early deaths in his family as i had divorces. the exact same number. who has the time to find out such minute details, but on a long road trip? that was long before there was technology to drown out the conversation. 


my most meaningful talks with my boys {i can't remember if any of their names made the baby list those many years ago during that infamous 'baby talk' drive} have also happened while driving. i think it's because we are sitting close, going somewhere, not looking at each other, and neither of us can leave the room. yesterday i found myself alone in the car with just one boy. we were on our way to the orthodontist. he was telling me about how a kid at the pool had called him "train tracks" because of his braces. "and mom. the thing is, he had braces too so i said, 'who are you calling 'train tracks', piranha?" this unpleasant exchange spurred me to explain how kids can sometimes be unkind {my boy's piranha comment not excluded}. i explained that as a homeschooler he isn't always privy to how kids can sometimes be cruel. "mom, i want to go to real high school." this is not the first time he has shared his hope with me. and i have always answered with, "let's wait and see." i confessed to him that as a mother i so want to protect him from things: hurt, temptation, distraction, anything that is not wholesome. but i also know that those things will eventually find him. as we drove down the road i explained, "i would rather those things find you while you are still living with us so that we can walk you through them than when you are not living with us, and we can't."

carpool!

today i had a story to share with him, something i had just read by one of my favorite writers andrée seu peterson. she wrote about trees. apparently it isn't healthy to stake a newly planted tree because when the winds come the tree will not be forced to take root. instead, when a new tree is planted in the soil, it should be simply planted so that it can do what it is made to do-take root. when the rough winds come and buffets the sapling, the roots of the tree will grow deeper and stronger. the stake, on the other hand, keeps the tree from taking root and in the words of mrs. peterson, "makes the young tree a sitting duck for a good stiff gust." 


that reminds me a great deal of parenting. i explained this to my second born son. how i desperately wish to shelter him like that stake does for the tree, but how that shelter isn't always what's best so while he lives with us, we would rather the winds blow hard so that we can help steady his tree as his roots dig in. 


i adore our car talks and hope someday my boys will enjoy equally satisfying car talks with their kids. speaking of my kids driving...check this out. a bit long, but worth it! 


http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8gePtWxcWoY&feature=em-share_video_user

confessions of a hypocritical gardener

"eat your vegetables". "tell the truth". "don't say 'piss off'." these are a few of the things i recommend to my boys. meanwhile i am sneaking m&ms and posturing with a penchant for the occasional curse word. "do as i say" with a quiet, "not as i do" chaser. i had a giggle with friends over the weekend over this phrase. each of us guilty in our own way of teaching one thing in our own homes and deviating from the path we set forth for our children.

boys helping in a friend's garden. 

much like a garden, i want the results of a beautiful brood of boys without the work. weeds that need tending? um. no thanks. i want the picturesque bounty not the sweat, bugs, weeding, discouragement that comes when wildlife robs my work.

the egg cartons are a failed attempt at growing from seeds.

every year i throw some plants or seeds in the dirt. i water and tend to the vegetation until, well, until i forget or until it becomes too hot or the weeds win. but my failed attempts at gardening do not deter me from trying. herbs in a pot in my kitchen. seeds planted in a rigged greenhouse. vegetables in raised beds. i have tried a lot of different approaches to growing plants as i have to growing boys. and you know what works for both: sunlight, space, good soil and lots of tending.

i have to walk daily with my boys. i have to engage in their lives. but i also have to engage in my own life: that means when i expect them to hear me the first time, i have to be listening to them. if i don't want them being selfish, then i need to be living a little more selflessly.i can't expect a perfect result from imperfect little people.  sitting on the bed of one of my boys and addressing his anger without confessing my own is well, hypocritical. and i own that.

my garden of boys is growing and growing fast. i can barely keep up really. and just as my darling "plants" are growing so are the weeds- at an alarming rate. it is staggering. overwhelming. and exhausting.

it's not that i think parents have the only power in the lives of their children to set the tone for who they become, how they grow-but they do have the most important opportunity. the parent is the master gardener in a way. here's to reaping a beautiful bounty in the garden as well as in the home. work hard.work long. enjoy the tending.

Too many irons in the fire

Genteel young men?

I want to be that wife, that mother, that person who cares about a nicely pressed pair of trousers and button down, but I.am.not. I once was. I think. Or maybe that is just the way I see myself back in the day when I had only 1 or 3 kids who did not need me to read latin or help solve complicated math problems whilst wielding a bb gun. The other day I asked my oldest to fetch the ironing board to bring to my bedroom in hopes that seeing the piece of ugly metal architecture, I would feel motivated to iron the way some feel about having a treadmill or Stairmaster in their bedroom motivates them to exercise. "O, it's just the inconvenience that is getting in the way of my slack. If I make it more convenient, then I will use it. And then I will change". Well, Ha! First, I had to explain to my 12 year old what an ironing board is and where he could find it-in the bowels of the basement. Then I had to remove the 5 year old from surfing "the board"-wrong kind of board, my darling. It set nicely in my ample-sized bedroom for a few days. Eventually the inevitable happened. Like the many pieces of gym equipment before it, it became a place to house clothes as they awaited their fate. I stared down that piece of padded metal til one night I found it politely folded and hidden away-IN MY CLOSET! While I was away for the evening and in hopes of tidying our untidy bedroom my Mister had asked the very same boy who had brought up this piece of heavy metal to "please put it away-in mommy's closet"(subtext so that every time she goes to select a pair of shoes or a towel, she has to have a moral stare down with her nemesis). I read recently a perfectly sane woman (who isn't Amish)write about the comfort she takes in sleeping on ironed sheets (that she has ironed herself no less!). I cannot fathom that. It took me 3 weeks and an impending formal ceremony in which my boys were performing for me to be shamed to come face to face with my Rowenta and a glass of water to steam bow ties and trousers and oxford button downs. I threw in a pair of my own slacks for kicks as well as one of the Misters many shirts. You know what? It was kind of fun. The boys looked dapper in their ironed shirts, and I even watched a little Hulu to calm the sting of this unsavory chore. A far cry from heating the iron on the fire and using a towel to keep from burning my fingers. We've come a long way from the chores of yore. And yet I am still lazy enough to be perfectly fine with my gentlemen wandering around unkempt and un-ironed. xo

that's more...

...like it!

flee market

This would go nicely in the boys'room behind their beds.

Inspired to recover my Goodwill sofa in this charcoal velvet

Texted my father this photo asking him to make me one, please.

I sent this idea to my sweet friend Wallis who is moving in a few weeks-an idea for her girlies

Made these for my father-Redneck wine glasses

The book the boy found

This weekend I plan to flee to the market, but not just any old market-certainly not the supermarket. Where's the fun in that? This market is where I go when my inspiration is waning. I flee to this market for comfort and creativity. Most times I go just to walk through. But let's face it the entirety of my home has been outfitted from places like these. I always meet the most interesting people. There are antique tools used in gardens and workshops of old. This kind of market is a hands on museum where my boys and I can venture through time and TOUCH the artifacts.


Let me explain. Most children are taken to baseball games and museums as their parents wish to broaden their cultural horizons. My parents chose a more nontraditional approach-flea markets. The first memory I have of going to the Memphis flea market, I wondered aloud, "Why is it called a 'Flea Market'?" And to this day no one has been able to give me an answer that quenches my curiosity. It was at a flea market that I first learned about current events, specifically who was President. My father bought my mother a peanut pendant for her necklace-the peanut represented our 39th President, Mr. Jimmy Carter-that infamous peanut farmer.I guess the reason why flea markets are my haven is because they represent all of the things I most value: resourcefulness, creativity, hard work, ingenuity, history, friendliness and some good old fashioned quirkiness.


My boys share my passion for these cobwebbed places where you can find a one-of-a-kind treasure from yesteryear. Once when we were on a "school outing" because these places are chocked full of history after all, I was pointing out a piece of art to my little brood of boys when a woman approached me. "It is refreshing to see boys interested in beautiful things. We mostly see mothers with their little girls, but boys can appreciate this too." Indeed they can (when they are not beating the crap out of one another). 


The last time my favorite flea market was in town, the family went with me. The oldest found a book on mathematics. He loves its straightforward explanation for things like algebra and geometry before textbooks became too apologetic in their approach to teaching and hence made subjects more confusing by trying to simplify them.The other boys found a harmonica still in its original box and a WWII flashlight.Imagine my glee when the 12 year old asked, "Mom, when is the next time we can go to that market where I found all the cool stuff?" To which I replied,"Well, this weekend, my darling. This weekend."