Not What It's Cracked Up to Be

Sometimes, your eyes see that which they cannot avoid.

That sounds profound and spiritual, and I suppose it is...or at least can be. We see our flaws, our failings. Our dreams and the achieving of them. Our friends. Our foes. And, every now and then, we see what we weren't looking for...revelation isn't always what it's cracked up to be.

I took the kids to Chick-Fil-A today to cash in their library freebies from the reading program.
Last summer.
(Thank you, Chick, for honoring expired coupons. Again and again).

The boys were playing while Grace and I were chatting at our table when a guy standing not two feet from me (I exaggerate not) stood up.

Lifted his shirt.
Exposed his drooping jeans and underwear.

And all that they are supposed to cover.
Eww.

Sometimes, your eyes see that which they cannot avoid.

And maybe it's not as spiritual when it happens at Chick-Fil-A...
But it's still not what it's "cracked" up to be.

If You Forced Me

If you forced me to pick just one novel and proclaim it my favorite...well, that would surely bring me pain. But, if forced, it'd be Pride and Prejudice. Every day and twice on Sunday.

And now Grace is discovering the magic literati reverently refer to as "Austen".
My generational gift to her...may it long live and thrive...
in the mind of a reader
and in the heart of a lady.

[Caption]

With Great Honor

This was my Facebook status today.

Pick battles big enough to matter, small enough to win. ~Jonathan Kozel

So applicable to my life this season. As every day amounts to a battle against the
ever-draining sands in the hourglass, prioritization matters more to my sanity than ever before. Does it seem to you, as it does to me, that all the tickers of time I once reserved for "old timers" suddenly mark me? An expression like, "Where has this year gone?" and needing to do math to recall my age have become part of my everyday routine.

Or how about this: My dearest Zee recently recounted that, as she reviewed some work-related documents, she realized one gal's birth date was later than her wedding date...meaning Zee got married before the lass was even born - EGADS!!

Yes, the travels of Old Man Time hearkens this paradigm, if it does nothing else: life really does pass us by...seemingly while we're standing watching the clock waiting for the next big thing to happen. (Or as John Lennon put it, life is what happens while we're busy making other plans).

So, I count that which matters most as (surprise) actually mattering most.

And I choose those battles.
And, if I can't win it, I try to let it go.
And if, as a friend from high school posted on that status today, I must ask,
"What if one has no choice?",
I can only hope my response to him will prevail:

Then fight to the finish with great honor.

Loved His Writing Today

It has been a WEEK! If life were really a grindstone, then my nose this week would be a nub (and based on the size of my schnoz, that's saying somethin'!). Last night, I sat with my husband and just had a good cry.

Ever need one of those? (Guys, I don't know what the parallel is for you...but let it never be said that I don't think you're entirely entitled to a good cry, too).

Weeks like these, nay - months like these - are the fieldstones of soul construction: you either prevail or perish, really. For me, success comes but one way: perspective. And heaps of perspective arrived on my doorstep yesterday.

But here's just one I'll share, one that especially lifted my spirits and reminded me: like a stalwart marker of life's most precious gifts, the sentiments of a child's heart can calm even the most tumultuous waters of life.

Thanks, Jamie (Elijah's first grade teacher and blog reader) for passing this email on:

Oh so today in writing we were using our vocab
words to make our writing more interesting. Here are the words:
concentrate, share, trust, splendid, concerned, member, fortunate. Here
is what E wrote:

I am really happy when I can concentrate on spelling so that I can be splendid at it.
I trust my friends when I share my toys.
I get concerned when my family gets sick.

I am fortunate to be a member of the Covak family.

Loved his writing today!!!!!!

Me, too, Jamie.
Me, too.

My Here and Now

"If I had portal..."

Did you know this is the beginning of most of my favorite sentences?

If I had a portal to South Carolina, I'd watch House with Amy, drinking a margarita while crunching on chips and "Who is Kaiser Salsa?"

If I had a portal to Alaska, I'd be watching It Happened One Night with Jessi, drinking caramel lattes, and gorging on chocolate and Moose's Tooth pizza.

If I had a portal to my childhood, I'd say, "Sustain. You make it in the end."

If I had a portal to college, I'd say, "You're right to choose Him. He is far better than your best mind could imagine."

If I had a portal to my wedding day, I'd say, "Memorize its beauty...and know the best is yet to come."

If I had a portal to heaven, I'd sit on my dad's knee.

And if I had a portal to the future, I'd close it.

I already have all the wishes of those portals.
I am blessed such connections have even existed.
Blessed generously.
Beyond measure.

So I don't need to see what's next.
I've got the best story already.
I've got my here and now.

For the Forever of It

Boys are hard. They were hard when I was 5. They were hard when I was 10. They were definitely hard when I was 16. And they're still hard - and I'm 34.

Of course, the reasons boys were hard at 5 were vastly different from those at 10.

And 16.
And 34.

Somewhere along the way, I went from "Why do they pull my hair?" to "Do they ever wash their hair?" to "What's with their obsession with long hair?"

Then I became a mother to a boy. And then another boy. And, still, I think boys are hard. For some mamas, this statement causes a shake of the head with a confused, "Whatdyamean?" For others, this statement provokes an "Amen!" from our collective mommys-to-boys gallery. If you're the former, you must teach me your secrets. If you're the latter, you must know you comfort me, for God said it ain't good to be alone.

Now, hear me: I love my boys. I love being their mother. They do, however, bring unique challenges that (much like mothering girls, I'll add) either readily click into the puzzle of your personality...or they don't. Boys are a bit like that for me: a mass of puzzle pieces requiring me to adapt even as they constantly grow and change.

And for that ride, I've been given two most excellent tickets.

On days when the shine dulls in the shadow cast by bickering, rowdiness, breakage, sass, and will superseding any imaginable definition you've ever before contrived - I look at my sons. Then and now.

My time with them is so short.
So precious.
So finite.

So hard.

They are my sons...
whom, with a mix of great joy and deep sorrow, I will one day give away.
They are boys - young risk-takers blazing a daredevil trail, leaving mud and giggles in their wake.

But they will fast become men.
Husbands.
Fathers.
Warriors.
Lovers.
Their risk-taking will become confidence, their trail will lead others.
And they will leave legacy in their wake.

And still they will be my sons.

Suddenly, hard doesn't seem so bad.
Doesn't seem so hard.
Not for this moment.
Not for the forever of it.

She Sure Does Love That Fish

Grace's last birthday marked her entry into "double digits." This is a big deal to a wee one leaving single digits, mind you. (I do believe the spark fades a skosh as 10 becomes 20, 30, 40...well, you get the idea).

So, our first-born is now 10 and, we all agreed: this called for one special gift.

Grace started out wanting a sea horse because, well, all horses are fantastic, don't you know - even when they live in the ocean?! In a shocking and (at moments) alarming display of her mother's genetic bearings, she began checking out stacks of books from the library and besieging Google with queries to discover, "Just how does one keep a pet sea horse?"

Answer? You don't. Apparently, they're harvested by pet shop suppliers and rarely live in captive tanks while the few that do seem to be plagued by infirmity and - I'm serious here - terrible bouts of depression. If you've met Grace, you'll know, then, that this was absolutely out of the question at the appearance of the word "harvested".

So what to do?

We got a fish.
Meet Noel.

She's a Black Moor Goldfish with telescope eyes. Grace went on a date with Daddy to pick out all the supplies - from the color of her tank lid to the gravel inside. Then we all went on a family outing...and she picked the precise fish she wanted.

Once home, fish and gear in hand, we started the setup process. Everyone took part in inaugurating her special friend into the fam.

Take note that she ended up with not one but two sea horses. Oh, thank you decorative fish tank accessories company.

Pouring in the water fascinated Judd.

Then Grace introduced Noel to her new home...and fed her for the first time.

Now, over a month later, Grace is still cleaning her tank weekly - it's more of a process than perhaps you think. But that water's always clear, and she could tell you that fish's personality - part and parcel complete with owner's commentary.

I love that girl.

And she sure does love that fish.