Happy St. Patrick’s Day! I still haven’t wrapped my brain around the idea that this is Holy Week, what with the holiday and all. I keep expecting to have more time. I woke up with a start this morning, “Oh no, I forgot to leave out the loot!” The Leprechaun is no longer a mystery in our home, but tradition is tradition. And as you have probably already gathered, we’re big on tradition around here. Needless to say, I did some scrambling before I dashed out the door for a meeting.

Holy week brings a great deal of activity on its own; having St. Patrick’s on top of it has sunk my questionable game low enough that I handed the boy his treat and gave him a hug without any pretense of magic. For his part, he didn’t build a trap this year either. We’ve moved on a bit, I guess. It’s bittersweet. But the day isn’t over and there is still magic to be had.

I tell you, I’m not liking all these major holidays squished together. Seems like it was just St. Valentine’s a month ago and now, Easter on Sunday? Bah. It has me running and I tend to get forgetful at this pace. Which is why I even forgot to mention, last Friday, that I was planning to take Holy Week off. However, I’m glad I forgot, because it gives me a chance to say a few things before I leave for the week.

I have say, the biggest reward of blogging is the amazing relationships I’ve established with some you. So much happens “off-line” via email and phone calls—and it’s provided an opportunity to dig deeper than the comment section allows. I’ve really enjoyed the process. While I expect you all to be creative and generous souls, because you are, I am always so touched by your generosity.

Friday, we came home to a HUGE box we weren’t expecting. And you know, good things come in small packages, but boxes rarely contain bad news! If you’re not expecting it, I think it might be even better. Who doesn’t love a sweet surprise?

Inside, was ball after ball of color! Wendee Shulsen of Hazel Knits, had sent the boy a treasure trove of yarn. I would be remiss to not point out how soft and truly lovely this yarn is! It makes a girl want to learn to knit. Included with all the color, came the most amazing card (that we read to Grammie and Poppie on the phone, Wendee!!) describing Wendee’s process of selecting and dying yarns for Hazel Knits.

Now, I’ve had the chance to get to know Wendee through email over the past few months. And I have discovered her to be a giving and thoughtful soul. But this box was just so. . . special. What Wendee didn’t know, was she spoke magical words to the boy. Words about “trial and error” and “making mistakes” and seeing her work as an “invention”. These are all lessons that, as a parent, I take great pains to preach; especially to a child who claims “being an inventor” as his life’s goal. It’s never easy to see our mistakes and learn from them. We want instant success, right? However, owning our mistakes is part of the creative process. And we never really know where that journey will take us if we are unwilling to risk a few failures along the way. In part, these are lessons learned best by doing. Yet, having other voices speak wisdom is so helpful; especially if that other voice is kindred inventor!

So, he notices, Wendee. He does. And so does his mother. I never cease to be astounded by the beauty the Universe offers up to us on a daily basis. For the beauty that you have brought into our lives, Wendee, “THANK YOU!”

And with that, I am taking this week off… officially. I wish each of you a blessed week. I hope that it is filled with magic and hope and beauty and love. May you find rest and comfort. But most of all, may you know peace.

Spring has left us no choice.

It’s been raining in sheets for two days. Our little spot of balmy (and I use that term loosely—loosely, like sliding half way down your backside jeans so the world can see you’re a briefs man , loosely) weather is gone. A false spring if you will. It leaves a girl little choice. She can be depressed. Or she can do something about it.

The Boy and I ran errands together yesterday and found ourselves roaming the garden department at a local chain store, where we bumped into this display:

How times have changed. Three years ago he would have launched a hard sell to bring one home. Instead, he shook his head wryly and sighed, “Gnomes? Why would anybody want a gnome?”* We laughed. We agreed that gnomes are funny, but not for our yard.

Instead we trolled (oh bad Wende!) the flower aisles. I love hanging out in the garden department at this time of year… everything is in bloom and it all suggests such potential. The display of star jasmine made me a little wistful for Sunnyside, though. However, row upon row of bright annuals makes it hard to remain gloomy for long. With names impossible to pronounce and colors impossible to resist, we took our time absorbing all the color. A visual tab of vitamin D.

Carefully we tested every color of Ranunculus the flower aisle had to offer, until we found the perfect shade for the ceramic pot we’d selected. Neither of which appear in the photo above because we were too consumed with our choices to think about the camera. “Try this yellow one. No, now try that pink one! How about white?”

Did you know that a Ranunculus is also called a Persian Buttercup? It’s more evocative, I think. At least, when you say, “I brought home a Persian Buttercup” you don’t sound like you have contracted a tropical disease! But we all know that names often belie the beauty of the thing. And a Ranunculus is truly a thing of beauty. Layer upon layer of tissue paper thin petals. . . it’s hard not to fall in love, even harder to make a choice.

Until I can recharge my camera battery, you’re going to have to take my word that we found a bit of Spring to bring home. The pot is this amazing blue, reticulated porcelain cache. And after much searching, we settled on a bright poppy colored bloom that the boy calls, “Lipstick red”. Which made me giggle, for some reason.

It continues to rain in sheets. But we don’t mind so much; we’ve got Ranunculus, after all!

UPDATE: See, Spring.

And apparently, some of you are fond of those little Garden Gnomes. . . who knew? Ok, I kinda guessed. Anyhow, I’m wishing I were more industrious, because if I could get that Gnome picture made into cards, I’d hold a contest to caption it. That Gnome with his hands on his hips just screams to say something witty, eh?

So, no offense to y’all who are lovin on the Gnomes. I’ve heard it said that love is blind. Evidently, it is.

I’m living vicariously and I’m not afraid to bribe the boy with cupcakes for his appearance here.

Me: Hey you, maybe it’s time for a hair cut. What do you think?

Boy Wonder: You meant to say “Trim”, right?

Me: Right. Trim. Got that.

It’s good to see this kid looking like himself again. So much so, that when I glanced over at him at church this Sunday, I noticed he still had a milk mustache and a bit of something gummy on the side of his face. But I also noticed that for the first time in months, I see the boy I expect to see.

And it’s possible, dear reader, that you will be seeing less of this face in the future. I am certainly seeing less of him. He’s striking out and in hard negotiations to have his “territory” expanded. (I swear, when this child was small and asked, “What do you want to be when you grow up?” He would answer, with the straightest face, “Emperor of the World.”) It’s only a matter of time before he expands his territory right out of our home. He’s never been the kind of child to look back, in any regard; and I don’t think they let you go to college with your kid. Right?

But not now. Not just yet. For the moment, here he is smiling at me. Looking ever so much like himself.

   

A few weeks ago, Jena over at Modish put out a call for what she’s calling Handmade Faces. I didn’t expect her to use what I wrote, in fact, I told her she really didn’t have to—it was just a little mama pride going on. But, being who she is—she has! And consequently, Boy Wonder is featured over on Modish today.

You really do owe it to yourself to check out all the amazing handmade there is to be found on Modish. There is so much to see beyond my kiddo! Jena has quite the knack for spotting the best and brightest in the handmade world, not to mention having a kind heart. She’s a very bright spot in the blogosphere! While you’re there, don’t forget to show Boy Wonder some love.

And Jena, you’ve made an 11 year old’s day. Thank you. From the bottom of my heart.

Me: So, you want to do some art?

Boy Wonder: Sure. But I just need to finish this. I’m creating a computer model of my secret spy satellite.

Me: I don’t suppose that comes with a secret lair, eh?

The list of lies I’ve told my child in the last few days would surely get me in trouble with Santa. But, it was for a good cause… and I have to say, worth the expression on his face when he walked through the door. My photos of the event are all wonky, much like the candles on the cake—someone played with my camera settings and I didn’t catch it until too late! Somehow, I don’t think we’ll need photos to remember this birthday.

Beyond all the turmoil in my life this week (and boy did that NOT help!) it’s been really difficult to watch Boy Wonder mourn. We told him that we would do things as a family on his birthday, but that parties with friends and gifts just couldn’t happen this year. He understood, but it didn’t make it any easier. Listening to him on the phone with his uncle, (thank you for calling, Mark!!) this morning would have broken my heart, except I was laughing so hard. Is it evil to torture your child so? He simply had no clue what was in store for him.

To his credit, he tried really hard not to mope. He didn’t succeed. This morning I found him curled up in front of his Birthday Tree in a quasi-fetal position. “Why so glum, chum?”

“Oh, no reason,” he said with tears in his eyes. And I felt like the worst mother on the planet. And so he sighed the afternoon away.

I won’t forget the look on his face—simple glee. He spent the entire time thanking everyone over and over. I’ve lost count how many times he’s told me, “I just need to say thank you!” He’s over the moon… a bit teary-eyed for all the right reasons. When his grandparents called to sing Happy Birthday to him they asked if the party was worth all the suffering.

“It was worth it, five times over!”

He never saw it coming. And sometimes, that’s a good thing!

This photo is a bit blurry—but I adore his expression, so this is what I’m posting. His smile has been fleeting this afternoon, so I’m hanging on to what I’ve got, blurry or not.

Boy Wonder has had the most unfortunate of accidents: he sat down in the chair of a scissor happy stylist. His long hair is no longer and he’s none-too-pleased. It took about an hour after the cut for it to sink in: he no longer looks like himself. He didn’t ask for a short cut, and he had no expectations that his hair would look much different than before. He certainly didn’t expect to see a different boy in the mirror and he’s having a hard time absorbing the sense of violation.

It took me six seconds to recognize there was problem when he walked in the door. I looked at my child and back at my husband and then I hit the roof! I FOOLISHLY let IZ take him to get his hair cut. Boy Wonder is not the most concrete about expressing what he wants when it comes to his hair. His father was no better. Apparently, they told the stylist, “choppy, rocky, not girlie” when what they should have said was, “this cut, only about a half inch shorter.”

There were words. Many words. I can’t look at my kid without my heart breaking. He really loved his long hair and it was such a part of him. It wouldn’t be so bad if this is what he wanted. But, it isn’t. He’s crushed and I’m torn between being crushed with him and wanting to crush his father. Clearly, we have established that from now on, the boy’s haircuts will be handled solely by the boy’s mother. And the boy’s mother reserves the right to glare in all directions for a few days. Lucky IZ, he leaves on business tonight.

And it might seem silly, to be upset about a haircut. I’m sure somebody will want to point out how unimportant it is in the long run. Please don’t. Because while you and I know that hair grows back, and it does not “make the pre-teen”, this is a real loss for my child. And if you could have seen him falling apart, you’d wouldn’t judge him for his distress. I’ve always been a sympathetic crier: but my own kid lamenting just wrenches my heart out.

The thing is, I get it! We sat and lamented together. I told him about how once someone did the same thing to my hair, only my hair had been down to the middle of my back. How, I had to walk home after, right past the school. And the woman had used a funky curling iron on it making it all fluffy—so I ended up walking to the school to dunk my head under the water faucet before heading home. It was THAT bad.

“Do you have a picture of your hair?” he asked.

“Yes! I had my school photo taken that year with that hideous cut. And then your grand-dad had to go hang it in his office, where the whole town could see it!” I told him.

“Was it worse than my hair?”

“Way worse. I was mortified. And humiliated.” I answered.

“Could I see this photo?” the twinkle in his voice gave him away. We laughed a little about our misery.

When the reality set in, he was furious and then distraught and then in need of a new hat. An emergency trip to Fred Meyer remedied the hat situation. His hair is going to take a bit longer. The new “do” is so dang girlie and so short, it will be months before he needs another cut—months before we get another picture without a hat. I’ve already warned him that he can’t wear a hat at church, but otherwise, I’m ignoring that “no hats indoors” rule for a few days. He needs time to adjust to the person he sees. And frankly so do I.

This child. This has been making me laugh. And cry. And marvel.

This child. He wasn’t always so tall, or his hair so long. I wasn’t always so old. But we’ve always been friends. Always a little bit grubby after a day at the beach.

This child. Still loves rocks and animals and legos and all things science. But I think that he might someday love girls too. I’m anxious that someday is closer than ever before.

This child confessed last night that he was a “fly-trap.” I think he meant “babe-magnet”. He shook his head and laughed. I held my breath. So much has changed. And yet some things stay the same.

He told me his secrets and his worries and we are still friends. Friends don’t tell secrets. They hold your worries close to their heart.

This child is growing up. Faster than I ever expected. Too fast for me to keep up. This child has me wondering where all the time went.