LOL-- Lots of Lincoln

The boys at the Lincoln Museum in Springfield, Illinois.
Notice John Wilkes Booth lurking in the background!

My husband sees a lot of wonderful places in his work as a pilot-- Telluride, Colorado; lonely paradises in the Bahamas; beaches and mountains all over the continent.

Where does he want to take the boys and me to visit on our summer vacation?

My guys at the Illinois State Capital

Springfield, Illinois.  The land of Lincoln.  Home of the Lincoln Museum.  It turned out to be a wonderful trip.  Denver even made the local news!

Denver was interviewed and made the news
regarding Fourth of July events near the state capital.

We were lucky enough to meet
President Lincoln outside a restaurant.

I was skeptical.  First of all, although I love history, I'm a little worn out from being a homeschool momma for the past four years.  I was hoping for a vacation involving big, frozen drinks with tiny umbrellas.  

Spencer confronts Booth.

The Lincoln museum is dedicated to helping us all understand the life of Abraham Lincoln.  They do it beautifully, and even had the help of Disney in creating exhibits.  The actors were fantastic.  We saw Lincoln's actual home, his law office, and the renovated street where he lived.  The period actors and knowledgable volunteers helped the whole experience come to life.  

Where else can you go and see a Union soldier
eating at Subway?

My boys with the Lincoln family.

The shows were amazing-- with ghosts telling stories, 3D presentations, and castings of Lincoln's hands and face for us to touch.  The photos and visual presentations of the Civil War were overwhelming.  I can't believe I'm saying this . . . but I'm incredibly glad we went.  

Now that our vacation is over, I'll fix my own pina colada and drink it by our pool . . . while I read my new biography of Abraham Lincoln.

Checking out the Show Me State

Denver could not wait to wave
his foam finger at the game!

It's a long drive to Nana and Papa Dale's house in Missouri.  

It was worth it.

Hiking at St. Joe Park.

Touching the arch, seeing their first professional baseball game, eating at St. Louis's Old Spaghetti Factory (not actually an old spaghetti factory), swimming, riding bikes, playing with cousins and friends, riding four wheelers, playing baseball, shooting skeet, and hiking.  The boys packed all this into the shortest Missouri trip ever.

Two photos this trip including both my mom and me.
We are usually the ones taking the pictures!

Who wanted to go home?  Not me!

The view from our seats at the Cardinals game.

I looooooove my parents and the way they show their love for us.  I hope  we can someday be such doting grandparents.  

Me and my man in downtown St. Louis.

The boys with their cousins, Breanna and Hannah.

Uneasy Choices

It is easy to tell yourself that you are a good parent when your children are doing what you want them to do.  I can even imagine that I trust my children to make their own choices.  I talk a big game about this-- respecting my children's interests, not pressing upon them my own expectations for success.

Lies.  All lies.

This summer, John Robert has an enormous amount of summer work to do for four of his upcoming 9th grade classes.  It isn't simply reading a novel and writing about it (although that is one assignment).  He has many pages of algebra, several chapters of science, and an enormous assignment for a class titled Human Geography.  Since we received his assignments, I have been agonizing about how to get him to DO the work.  I even went so far-- with his permission-- as to print out a calendar and suggest a work schedule.  

I was dismayed to realize that John Robert's way of coping with large assignments is to ignore them.

Days and weeks passed.  

I find I am no longer the mother who trusts her son to make his own choices.  I agonize over my son's seeming lack of work ethic and my role as a parent.  My husband and I discuss in hushed tones how to coerce John Robert into doing his work.  We discuss taking away his laptop and his phone.  I fantasize about screaming.

Hypocrisy surrounds me like the heat of this Georgia summer, making it hard to take a deep breath.  All my talk about John Robert living his own life and making his own decisions-- where are those words now?  Does a responsible parent push or does a respectful parent allow her child to fail in hope that he will make the "right" choice on his own?  If my son makes poor choices, does that mean I'm a poor parent? 

After much agonizing, I sat down with John Robert on his bed last night.  We talked about the surprising amount of work required of him this summer.  I listened to his confused feelings pour forth.  He knows doing the work and earning good grades is important, but the assignments don't feel important.  They feel like a burden.  I understand.

As my child talks, I realize my beliefs: I make it clear that his life belongs to him, and I will not damage our trusting and respectful relationship by attempting to force his choices.  At the same time, his father and I will not continue to pay out of county tuition if he fails to give his assignments a full effort.  My words surprise and please me.

I suggest that perhaps he feels overwhelmed; and if so, I would like to support him in any way that makes sense to him.  I suggest that he may feel embarrassed to walk into his first day at a new school having failed to complete several assignments.  John Robert agrees.  He suggests that I hold his phone and keep him away from his laptop during "work time" so that he doesn't get distracted.  He immediately picks up an assignment and I walked away holding his phone. 

To my amazement, I arrived home from work today to find John Robert wanting to discuss Of Mice and Men, which he had (finally) read.  He was deeply moved by the characters and surprised by the distressing ending.  After eating lunch together, he settled down to do his response journal.  We talked throughout the afternoon-- about the characters in the novella, about the author John Steinbeck, his language choices, the setting and time period.  My son is delightful company.

After he leaves for his second swim practice of the day, I sneak a peek at his writing.  It is beautiful, insightful, riddled with spelling errors; and yet, a pleasure to read.

A Taste of Our Summer

I've been feeling restless lately, always wanting to go somewhere and do something. As often happens, Denver straightened me out.

"Mom, I love it when we don't do much.  That way the time goes slower and you can really taste the summer."

Amen, Little Buddy.

Enjoying the pool.

Denver and Mr. Shakespeare,
a souvenir from his first full
length Shakespeare play.

Making lemonade.

Celebrating Spencer's 12th Birthday!

Fun trip with the boys to Fernbank's new
exhibit-- Brain, The Inside Story.

John made the Minecraft Cake for
the Birthday party!

Swim meets . . . Two a week.  Four days of practice a week.
TWO double practice days a week.

To My Darling on Father's Day

My Darling,

I know you and I could never have predicted this life we would make together.  

How could we know in 1985 when we met that 30 years later we would be here?

With all the joys and disappointments, fears and triumphs, three boys, four dogs, and decades of shared dreams  . . . who better to spend my life (and little bit of money) with than you?  

These days already gone . . . 

Your Mini Me Clown.

The Warrior.

A Triumphant John Robert.

I am so sorry about all this . . . 

Belated Happy Birthday-- I love you very Mulch

Some wives get flowers for their birthdays or a gift certificate to the spa or jewelry.

My romantic hubby bought me two truckloads of . . . MULCH.

He and the boys trimmed the azaleas, weeded, and raked until it looks like a middle class person lives here instead of us :-)

Just in time for my grandmother's beautiful flowers to begin blooming.

Thank you, Baby.  You are nothing if not unique.

Gone to the Dogs

This is what happens when you start rescuing dogs.

It's embarrassing really.  I'll just go ahead and say it.  We have four dogs.  And three of them are big.  They shed.  They track dirt through the house.  They like to jump on the furniture when you're not looking.  And except for the last one, they're all my fault.

Our last acquisition was done as a favor to a police chief whom I much admire.  He was looking for a home for a young german shepard.  If I didn't take him, he was going to the animal shelter because his elderly owner was unable to handle him.  How could I say no?  I've been saying I'm his foster mom and looking for a good home for him; meanwhile, our whole family (in-laws excluded) has fallen in love with him.

But here is the real truth . . . 

My girl, Lady.  She would wait near my running shoes.

We lost our beautiful german shepard, Lady, last July.  My last words to her as we lay together on the cold tile of the emergency vet's office were, "I'm sorry I can't save you.  I'm so sorry I can't save you."  I stroked her soft fur, and for the first time ever, she didn't look at me or lean into me.  Her eyes stayed closed.  Her death was unexpected. She had gone running with me two days before.  I cried for weeks.

Sometimes Happiness just sneaks up on you.

A month later, when I had the opportunity to save a puppy's life and give it a good home, I did. When Denver wanted his own dog, we chose a likely looking fellow who was homeless. When John wanted a big, black german shepard named Maximus, I made it happen.

Maximus and Apollo--
The World's Best Running Partners
(Okay, not the Best; but the most enthusiastic!)

This is what I get every time
I crack open the back hatch!

Now our house is full to bursting with dogs and boys and all the accessories that go with each.    

I spend a disproportionate amount of time vacuuming and mopping.

And yet . . . after a six mile trail run with the shepards; after I watch Spencer and Denver dote on the dogs and hug them for comfort; and after obedience training, agility work with Audrey, and a rousing game of fetch with Jake, I have to say . . . it's worth it.

Did someone say Park?

Denver and Lieutenant Jake

Audrey loves racing through her tunnel.