Definition of Sexy

When I was a little girl, I thought Ricky Schroeder and Ralph Macchio were sexy. My room would be splattered with posters from tiger beat with their feathered back hair, polo shirts with the collars styled up, and acid wash jeans. Oh pony boy, nothing gold can stay.

When I was in high school and college, I officially became a broadway geek and thought guys like Hugh Panaro, Michael Ball, and Adam Pascal were sexy. The way they used their voices, the way they effortlessly belted out those notes, the way they hung on to a note till just the last moment before they let their vibrato close it out....hot. Hmmmm, I guess I still think that's sexy.

But I've had 10 years to observe John as my husband, and 9 of them as a father, and he has totally altered my definition of sexy. This is sexy....

Watching him bounce and sway as he tried to put a crying baby to sleep. Then watching him knock out on the couch with sleeping baby on his chest.

Asking him to run out to target to buy diapers and having him return instead with a girly, flowery lamp for our baby girl, just because he thought she would like it (she was 3 weeks old).

Seeing him play ball with the boys after a long long long day at work.

Watching him dance with Selah because she thinks he is her prince.

Knowing he wakes up early to make the kids pancakes and sausage because they love it (by the way, I am still sleeping since I think our kids will grow up just fine eating cereal).

The way he reads stories to the kids with made up voices and accents.

How he gives his last bite of food to the kids if they ask.

Seeing how much the kids light up when he walks through the door, and seeing him light up right back.

Ralph Macchio could never hold a candle to that. Or I guess in current times, Robert Pattinson, even with all his smoldering looks and trend setting hair, could even compare in my eyes.

Kids don't think he's sexy, but they do agree he's pretty awesome.

I like Gabriel's card the best. That is Daddy laying out as the 3 boys are floating away on shark infested waters. Maybe Daddy can't see them floating away since he has no eyes.

Props to all the dads out there, especially ours!

Death of the Home Party

Considering how big and sweaty and testosterone-filled Nathanael and his friends are getting, I decided to do my first non-home birthday party. At first, I had that guilt that I wasn't being all martha stewart like. Then I had guilt over all the money we would spend renting out a place.

But then we had the party and I have seen the light.

Nathanael wanted his party at an indoor sports place so he and his friends could do what they do best.....run, sweat, kick, sweat, throw, sweat, catch, sweat....

They played soccer, wiffle ball, and old school dodge ball. But the highlight of the party was the kids versus grown ups game. John definitely enjoyed re-living his childhood. It was a pretty awesome match. Kids prevailed.

But my personal highlight of the party....watching them eat snacks and pizza and drinks and cupcakes and not having to lift a finger. See that girl in the red shirt. Let's just say she earned her tip and then some.

As is our family tradition, we asked for guests to bring a small donation rather than a present for Nathanael to give to the charity of his choice. This year, he chose Food Fight (foodfightforhunger.com), an organization started by high school students in our community to empower youth to eradicate hunger in the world. Love their initiative. Love their vision. Love the hope it gives me for the future leaders of the world. Thanks to all of Nathanael's friends who contributed. We were able to raise $190!

Mama Bear Unleashed

I may be small, but when you trigger my mama bear instincts, I will attack.

At the pool today, that mama bear was unleashed. My number two had just discovered the joy of diving off the boards. I was enjoying watching him jump and run back in line over and over again. As I was watching him, I noticed that these older boys behind him in line were saying something to him. He turned away from them, but they kept tapping him on the shoulder and saying something again and laughing. Being his mother, even though he was not visibly upset, I could tell he was hurt under the surface of his tough face. After he jumped, I waved him over to where I was to ask him what was going on. Before I could finish my sentence, he burst into tears and told me that those boys were making fun of him because he had a mustache.

Now, John and I have poked fun at him from the day he was born about his seeming abundance of testosterone. When I first held him, I burst out laughing because he was so hairy. He had a mustache from the womb. Look carefully at this baby picture. That is not a shadow over his mouth. That is his magnum p.i. mustache.

But the thing is, we can laugh at him. We are his family. We love him. We know him. It's said with affection. It's part of the Lee family code that we can laugh and poke fun at each other. But it's not okay when it comes from someone who does not know him and love him. They may be the same words, and the same jokes, but not said with the same intent.

Usually, I want my kids to fight their own battles. But this situation felt different. He was outnumbered by kids clearly older and bigger than him. My mama bear got unleashed. I leapt out of my chair and went straight into the middle of that diving board crowd with Simeon. I calmly, but quite firmly told those boys that it was not cool to say those kinds of things because they were hurtful, and it better not happen again. I'm not sure what my face looked like, but it obviously was scary enough that it wiped the smirks off their faces as they nodded their heads in agreement.

Looking back, maybe I overreacted. But they hurt my baby. My cute, mustached baby. And I wanted him to know that I have his back always. As we walked back from the confrontation, I felt him squeeze my hand just a bit tighter. Being his mother, I know that meant thank you. You're welcome magnum, you're welcome.

You want my body to do what?!?!?!

So I decided to take this ballet barre inspired exercise class. Now considering that I do a lot of intense cardio classes, as well as running long distances, I went in thinking this would be a nice, relaxing change for me.

Boy was I wrong. Dead wrong.

From the get go, I knew I was in trouble. The instructor had to keep coming to me and correcting my moves or posture. During some of the stretching moves, my legs were shaking so badly it looked like I was having a seizure. Every time the instructor walked near me, she would say, "If anyone needs to take a break, do so and join us a bit later." I could only assume that "anyone" meant me since no one else was having spasms. At the end, we were supposed to sit under the ballet barre with our hands on the barre and our legs pointed forward. Then she said to pull ourselves up with our arms while holding that position, and if possible, let our legs come off the floor. I thought she was giving us a visual to help us keep our posture and position. I didn't really think she wanted us to lift our legs. But as I looked around the class, I realized I was the only one with my legs on the floor. Epic fail.

I was planning on leaving that class and never ever doing it again. But then, all the speeches I gave my kids came rushing back to me (see the previous post for an example of one). I tell them all the time that it's easy to try when you have success or it comes easy. The true test of character is when it's hard and discouraging and failure abounds, but you still try. How could I continue to preach that to them when I was so quick to disregard my own advice. And I do enjoy making speeches.

So I continue to go back. Four classes in and I'm still struggling my way through it. I want to stop. My pride is hurt. But I have four little eyes watching me.

So bring it you ballet people with your gumby legs and superhuman strength. I'm coming for you.

Done well you have, young jedi

So my number two has been playing soccer for the past three years. He got to a point where we felt like he was outgrowing the recreational league. He would look on with envy at his older brother who played in a more competitive league. So when some of his close friends decided to try out for a travel soccer team, we took the plunge and decided to let him go for it as well.



As we were driving to the tryout, this was our conversation.
"I really hope I make it."
"I really hope you make it too. I know how much you want to play with your friends. But all you have to do is try your best and we'll be proud of you no matter what."
Pause.
"If I don't make it, does it mean I'm bad?"

Something about what he said and the way he said it brought a big lump to my throat. It was a stark reminder that there would be disappointments and heartaches and failures that would come into the lives of my children. To try and protect them from such things would be futile and pointless. My job was to prepare them to be able to navigate through these inevitable potholes of life, and I tried my best in that car ride to do just that. I gave an epic speech about the value of failure, the importance of building character, the lesson of perseverance, the meaning of a true champion, and the worth we find not in what we do, but in who we are in Him. If I do say so myself, it was a darn good speech. But that lump still stayed in my throat.

Being new to the travel league tryout system, I was not quite prepared for how intense the evaluation process was. The field filled up fast with kids ready to show their stuff. I won't even mention some of the parents who scared me with their sideline intensity. Warm ups, drills, foot skills, one on one scrimmages, all while multiple coaches were furiously scribbling down notes on all the kids. There were times where I thought Simeon held his own. But then there were times where I felt like he was schooled by some of the other kids. At the end, they had all the kids line up one last time as they wrote a final note on their clipboards. Their fate was sealed. They would let us know in a few days. I didn't think it was possible, but that lump actually grew bigger in my throat. 

Funny how the speech I gave to Simeon really settled inside of him, but I, the author of that speech, was now a big mama mess. As we were driving home from the tryout, this was our conversation.
"I really hope I make it."
"I hope you make it too." (big lump in my throat prevents me from speaking further)
Pause.
"It's okay if I don't make it. I can just get better for next time. I'm glad I tried."

The student had become the teacher. My wise little jedi man.

Epilogue: I had an even more epic consolation speech prepared. It will come to use another time. He made the team.

All Hail Selah Day

My little girl turns four today. Since her birthday falls on a Monday, we celebrated on Sunday by having an "all about Selah" day. Granted, in her mind, this is every day. But yesterday, we all played along as if it were true.

It began with Selah's ballet show. She got to wear her hair up in a bun, and put on a sparkly, glittery costume and tutu.

She and the rest of her preschool dance class definitely stole the show with their rousing twinkle twinkle number.

She got to eat as many sweet desserts at the reception as she wanted.

Best of all, she had all of us sit through the 2 hour show just to watch her 5 minute routine. Nathanael spent the whole time counting how many more numbers till the show was over, and Simeon went deep deep deep into his "happy place." I'm pretty sure he's fighting some imaginary pokemon in his head.

Then we went and picked out a little pet shop house as her present from us and the grandparents. The rest of the evening, her brothers gave her the absolute best gift of all. Without complaint, and without any prompting from me, they played with that pet shop house while Selah barked orders at them. "Nathanael, your doggy has to go in the spinning thing. Now make it spin. Simeon, your monkey has to go to bed. Not that bed. The purple bed. Gabriel, you have to put the fish in the tub."  She loves her brothers. She loves ordering her brothers around. She loves when they obey her. They gave her all of that.

Happy birthday to our little girl who will pirouette one moment, and knock you out the next. Just ask Gabriel. For one brief moment, he forgot that it was Selah day and tried to upstage her. I couldn't take a picture of what happened next because I was too busy consoling him, but let's just say she wiped that smirk off of Gabriel's face fairly quick.

More things change, the more they stay the same

It's been 10 years today that John and I began this journey together. Reflecting back, I can't help but think of all the ways our lives have changed since those early years.

Then: We ate out all the time, going to whichever restaurant our palette felt like indulging in. We ate slowly until we were full and utterly content.
Now: We eat out sporadically, going to whichever restaurant has the buy an adult meal get a free kid's meal deal going on. We watch our kids eat till they are full and content while our own stomachs grumble, and we end up packing our order to go so we can eat in peace.

Then: We saw every movie out there, even the really lame ones. And boy have we seen some pretty lame ones (anyone else see Hard Rain in the theaters...yup...didn't think so).
Now: We see movies when they get to redbox. When we do go to the theater, we never go together. We see it in shifts.

Then: We had tons of pictures together.
Now: We are lucky if we accidentally snap both of us in the shot.

Then: We woke up when our bodies wanted to.
Now: We wake up when our kids want us to.

Then: He never saw any broadway shows or knew anything about pop culture, and I was computer illiterate and had never stepped foot in a home improvement store.
Now: He shares my love of broadway, and no longer thinks I am speaking gibberish when I go off on my pop culture tirades. I know enough about computers to do this blog, and menards has become my bff.

Then: I had portion estimation issues. I was so used to cooking for large groups of people at our church that I had no ability to cook for just the two of us. Poor John ate the same meal for a week at a time.
Now: I still have portion estimation issues. I am so used to cooking for toddlers that I have not quite adjusted to the voracious appetite of my non-toddler boys. Poor John has gone on many unintentional diets this year.

It's been 10 years, and we've been through this.

Then this.

Then this.

Then this.

Now this.

But with all the changes, some things have remained the same. He still "gets" me, even when I don't "get" myself. He is still the first person I want to talk to when something happens. He still makes me feel like the prettiest girl in the room. He still stands unflinchingly by me even when I am not the best version of myself (which is quite often). He still believes in me...the me I am today...and the me I am becoming.

It's been 10 years, and there is still no one else I'd rather walk through life with. Thankful.
(Sidepoint: Perfect illustration of my point above. I had to dig around for just a picture of us two...and it's from our last anniversary)

Here's to hoping for a chicken nugget free dinner tonight.