When someone says, "....love story...." the first thought is that of romantic love.
I read this today and it struck me that the truth of the matter is this:
if you love someone, there's a story.
And that's it.
Amen.
Saturday, May 20, 2017
Monday, May 15, 2017
Live and Learn
I was going to write about the Montana Women's Run that I have been doing on Mother's Day weekend for the last five years, but something else is on my heart so that'll have to wait.
As you know, we have a seventh grade girl now (soon to be eighth grade!) and are neck deep in junior high-ness. Junior high-ness means there's extreme moodiness, insecurity, friend drama, an amazing appetite, a body that's growing an inch a day at least (or maybe it just seems that way), a budding interest in the opposite sex....and much, much more.
I love watching this particular stage of growth! Junior high kids are all arms and legs and feet, they never know what's going to come out of their mouths, they're breathtakingly close to adulthood and the realization of that makes them giddy and terrified all at the same time.
I'm having a hard time parenting right now. It's like having a very tall three year old again. There's a lot of "I can do this, Mom! You don't have to help!". Every, every day I pray for wisdom and sensitivity. And insensitivity so that the hurtful, careless things won't be taken personally. But mostly for wisdom. All the junior high things my daughter is struggling with are bringing back all the things I worried about at that age. I thought that by now, I'd have some helpful solutions to pass along, you know? Nope. I've got nothin'.
This weekend was graduation in our hometown and the junior high dance. In Jordan, since there are so few kids in the junior high, the dance is open to 5-8th graders. Last year, I promised that Maggie could go when she was in seventh grade, but that I thought 5th and 6th grade was a bit young, and she agreed. So this year, it was a big deal. She called her cousin (who is also a good friend and classmate) to get the particulars, things like what to wear and date/time/location. We shopped for an outfit, nails were painted, hair styled in a long blonde French braid. She was nervously excited, so I played corny 80s music on the way to town to make her laugh. One of the things the parenting books don't touch on is how difficult it is to send your baby off on her own independent little way to an event you know isn't going to end well.
And it didn't.
Mostly because NO ONE'S first junior high dance goes well. It's one of those things in life that will bond people on down life's road, the awful experience of their first junior high dance. Or at every junior high dance. It's no one's fault and there's nothing that can be done. You just have to get through it.
When I picked her up I could tell that she was trying to be brave and pretend that she'd had a great time, but that didn't last long. There were tears, of course, but not the ones I expected because they were not tears about her. She explained with a sad, yet incredulous voice and many sniffles that there were way more girls than boys at the dance and that there was an awkward group and a more popular group of girls. (She was pretty prepared for that going in, so it wasn't a surprise.) Apparently Maggie fell somewhere in-between, having friends in both groups, but ended up mostly in the awkward group.....and that didn't seem to be the problem. She got to dance a few times, visit with friends, drink Shirley Temples...good stuff. But then she told me about the girls who didn't get asked to dance and she just broke down. "They were standing there in a line, all dressed up, and they were beautiful, Mom. They were perfect. All they wanted was to dance one dance, have someone choose them ONE TIME, but no one did. It was just so sad. And I couldn't tell them that they were so pretty and that it wasn't that something was wrong with them, and they don't even know, now!"
And we both cried because our hearts hurt for those beautiful young ladies.
We came home, put on our comfies, and visited with the Farmer about how weird boys are and how hard it is to be this age for EVERYONE. Boys are scared and uncertain, too. No one was deliberately hurtful or mean, they are all good kids in a place where fear and insecurity are magnified at a ridiculous level. Growing up means going through difficult experiences and making the best of it, rolling with the rough stuff, having compassion for everyone because we're all just doing the best we can. As my Aunt Bert has said, if you can just get through junior high, you've got it made. (Parents, too!)
As you know, we have a seventh grade girl now (soon to be eighth grade!) and are neck deep in junior high-ness. Junior high-ness means there's extreme moodiness, insecurity, friend drama, an amazing appetite, a body that's growing an inch a day at least (or maybe it just seems that way), a budding interest in the opposite sex....and much, much more.
I love watching this particular stage of growth! Junior high kids are all arms and legs and feet, they never know what's going to come out of their mouths, they're breathtakingly close to adulthood and the realization of that makes them giddy and terrified all at the same time.
I'm having a hard time parenting right now. It's like having a very tall three year old again. There's a lot of "I can do this, Mom! You don't have to help!". Every, every day I pray for wisdom and sensitivity. And insensitivity so that the hurtful, careless things won't be taken personally. But mostly for wisdom. All the junior high things my daughter is struggling with are bringing back all the things I worried about at that age. I thought that by now, I'd have some helpful solutions to pass along, you know? Nope. I've got nothin'.
This weekend was graduation in our hometown and the junior high dance. In Jordan, since there are so few kids in the junior high, the dance is open to 5-8th graders. Last year, I promised that Maggie could go when she was in seventh grade, but that I thought 5th and 6th grade was a bit young, and she agreed. So this year, it was a big deal. She called her cousin (who is also a good friend and classmate) to get the particulars, things like what to wear and date/time/location. We shopped for an outfit, nails were painted, hair styled in a long blonde French braid. She was nervously excited, so I played corny 80s music on the way to town to make her laugh. One of the things the parenting books don't touch on is how difficult it is to send your baby off on her own independent little way to an event you know isn't going to end well.
And it didn't.
Mostly because NO ONE'S first junior high dance goes well. It's one of those things in life that will bond people on down life's road, the awful experience of their first junior high dance. Or at every junior high dance. It's no one's fault and there's nothing that can be done. You just have to get through it.
When I picked her up I could tell that she was trying to be brave and pretend that she'd had a great time, but that didn't last long. There were tears, of course, but not the ones I expected because they were not tears about her. She explained with a sad, yet incredulous voice and many sniffles that there were way more girls than boys at the dance and that there was an awkward group and a more popular group of girls. (She was pretty prepared for that going in, so it wasn't a surprise.) Apparently Maggie fell somewhere in-between, having friends in both groups, but ended up mostly in the awkward group.....and that didn't seem to be the problem. She got to dance a few times, visit with friends, drink Shirley Temples...good stuff. But then she told me about the girls who didn't get asked to dance and she just broke down. "They were standing there in a line, all dressed up, and they were beautiful, Mom. They were perfect. All they wanted was to dance one dance, have someone choose them ONE TIME, but no one did. It was just so sad. And I couldn't tell them that they were so pretty and that it wasn't that something was wrong with them, and they don't even know, now!"
And we both cried because our hearts hurt for those beautiful young ladies.
We came home, put on our comfies, and visited with the Farmer about how weird boys are and how hard it is to be this age for EVERYONE. Boys are scared and uncertain, too. No one was deliberately hurtful or mean, they are all good kids in a place where fear and insecurity are magnified at a ridiculous level. Growing up means going through difficult experiences and making the best of it, rolling with the rough stuff, having compassion for everyone because we're all just doing the best we can. As my Aunt Bert has said, if you can just get through junior high, you've got it made. (Parents, too!)
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