it's all good {CELEBRATE This Week: 174}

I'm glad you are here to celebrate! 

Share a link to your blog post below and/or use #celebratelu to share celebrations on Twitter. Check out the details here. Celebrate This Week goes live on Friday night around 10(ish). Consider it as a weekend celebration. Whenever it fits in your life, add your link. 

Please leave a little comment love for the person who links before you.

***

I like it when things settle back to ordinary. The Christmas decorations are put away, the fridge holds more fruits and vegetables than it does cookies and candies, and the shopping is primarily at the grocery store.

I've spent a lifetime learning to love ordinary. There is holiness in routine. There is power in the familiar. The secret is to continue to see these things as sacred.

2016 was a year of friction. The Christmas season of 2016 was no different.  This was true for me and for those who are closest to me. The glow of Christmas lived side-by-side with heartache.

Learning to tailor a life well lived is about remaining steadfast through the trials. It's about loving when it's hard. It's about believing in a greater good.

My friend Kim always said, "It's all good." She would share a trial or a tiff or a situation that didn't quite go how she would have liked. She would tell me how she was mad and cried and said exactly what was on her mind. Kim had passion. And then she'd say, "But it's all good." The stories always ended with her smoothing things over with the other person. She didn't do it in a condescending way and she didn't sacrifice her core beliefs. She simply allowed her love for people to trump all disagreements. Everyone knew Kim loved them.

It's all good.

This phrase is all around my school communities. It's on business windows and school message boards. It's on restaurant signs and Facebook feeds.

It's all good.

Kim and her oldest son passed away in a car accident on Christmas evening. It is a devastating situation. At the Celebration of Life, I sat in a packed high school gymnasium. One of the speakers asked for audience participation. Four times during his speech he shared a common Kim scenario, and then  asked us to say the words that were commonplace when talking with Kim:

It's all good, rumbled throughout the gym.

I sat in the dark church sanctuary for the small funeral service. The pastor unpacked the reasons why Kim was able to say, with authority, "It's all good." Kim knew there was a good God at work. Kim knew things on this earth are temporary. Kim knew people mattered more than anything else. She assured everyone she met, "It's all good."

What an incredible legacy Kim has left on earth.

As things around me return to ordinary, I am not. The gnarled living of 2016 changed me. I have a new perspective, whether I like it or not.

My ordinary is evolving.

I celebrate that through the hard, we can find good on the other end. I celebrate, like Kim, that

It's all good.

Share your celebrations...

Learning to Treasure {CELEBRATE This Week: 138}

 

I'm glad you are here to celebrate! 

Share a link to your blog post below and/or use #celebratelu to share celebrations on Twitter. Check out the details here. Celebrate This Week goes live on Friday night around 10(ish). Consider it as a weekend celebration. Whenever it fits in your life, add your link. 

Please leave a little comment love for the person who links before you.

*****

I don't know what to celebrate. I've started this post three times. That's not like me. I started to write about Hannah and high school next year. I deleted the 73 words and decided it's not time to think about that yet.

I started to write about the grey skies that are still wrapping around us. I deleted the 19 words and decided I don't have the grit in my soul to write the grey with joy.

I began a list.

1. Hannah won a county-wide writing contest. 
2. Sam finished reading Bird.
3. Andy promised me dinner out with some friends.

I decided this wasn't fair either. There is a wisp of a celebration right in front of my nose and I'm having a hard time weaving it into something real.

This happens sometimes. We are distracted and the celebrations wave from a distance. We are grey and the celebrations sleep. We are tired and the celebrations slip through our fingers.

Instead of hurrying-up, I'm choosing to slow down. I'm going to linger.

Treasure.

Treasure.

Treasure.

It's my word of the year, and I'm not sure I'm living it. Google defines treasure as a quantity of valuable objects. Treasure is about abundance. If I'm choosing to live treasure, then I'm choosing to embrace an abundance of valuable moments. It's not only about digging one celebration out of the mire, but about claiming another celebration and another and another.

If I live treasure, then I collect an abundance of celebrations. 

My kids are growing up. We are ready to flip the page on this school year, and they will be headed into 9th grade, 7th grade, 6th grade, and 5th grade. They are working their ways out of childhood and into adolescence. Time is marching. 

I want to treasure these moments just like I've treasured the moments that have gone before. Parenting takes endurance. It is through finding an abundance of celebrations that I will learn to live treasure.

So here's to finding one moment then another and gripping them, then looking closely enough to find all of the other glimmers of grace and raw beauty and unexpected joy. This is how I will learn to treasure the rocky year we are living.

I can't wait to read your celebrations. You give me abundance and it fuels me!

An InLinkz Link-up

Treasure {CELEBRATE This Week: 120}

I debated whether to link celebrations during these holiday weekends, but I decided we must claim celebrations on the ordinary days and the holidays. I hope you carve out a few moments to document your celebrations.Happy New Year!

 *******

Since 2006 I've selected a word to live by for the year. Last year I chronicled my decade of One Little Words with this little video.

Today I say hello to a new little word. I remind myself that it's not about letting go of unhurried, a word that I will forever be grateful to -- it saved me from the rat race of life -- rather, I'm inviting something new into my life.

Unhurried was a game-changer for me. I quit rushing and began to savor. I learned to do my best and let God do the rest. I learned about rest, too. Unhurried, more than any other word altered the course I was on. I kind of feel sorry for the word that has to follow it.

I've been making lists of words for the last six weeks, waiting for one to find me. I thought one did until another word lassoed me this morning.

Treasure. I like that it's both a noun and a verb. Since it just caught me today, I don't have much more to say about it. I'm sure I'm in for a treat.

I love living with intention around a single word. I can't wait for the celebrations to treasure this year. Thanks for celebrating alongside of me each week.

 

An InLinkz Link-up

UNhurried {Celebrate This Week: 109}

I'm glad you are here to celebrate! Share a link to your blog post below and/or use #celebratelu to share celebrations on Twitter. Check out the details here. Celebrate This Week goes live on Friday night around 10(ish). Consider it as a weekend celebration. Whenever it fits in your life, add your link. Please leave a little comment love for the person who links before you.

******

I've been living with words for a decade. They refine me. This year, I've been learning to live unhurried. This is what I've found: As I've stopped hurrying, more gets accomplished.

No joke.

I've been surprised to find that learning to live unhurried is more about learning to live by faith rather than a practice of mindfulness. The moments I start to hurry are the moments I quit trusting God. They are the moments when I think I need to get things done, stay in control, and have it all my way.

Life doesn't work best this way.

In the past few weeks, things have not been going how I expect. My time keeps getting usurped. Random things have happened: lost car keys, a barely-there rash on one of the kids, forgotten dinner plans, getting stuck behind tractors and being rerouted for road work. Big things have happened: funerals, babies, and holidays.

Still ,with deadlines looming and friends calling and family missing me, I've tried to live unhurried. On Wednesday afternoon, it was all piling up, much like water ready to break through a dam. My internet was slow, a friend wanted to walk, and I still needed to go to the grocery store so I could make 3 dishes for Thanksgiving dinner at 5:30 pm and prepare to host another Thanksgiving dinner at our home the next day.

It was in this moment that I realized living unhurried has little to do with my own discipline and everything to do with faith. I listened to a Joyce Meyer podcast on my way to the grocery store. She shared a mantra: Do your best and let God do the rest.

It glued itself right to my inner being. My smile turned from weary to genuine and I did my best (and let God do the rest) in the grocery store. I didn't have to backtrack a single time (and I always have to backtrack) and a new lane opened for me so there was no waiting.

I've struggled to learn about Sabbath, a time to abstain from work. I've pulled strings of understanding about rest. I've tried to mold unhurried into the bigger picture of rest and Sabbath.

It hasn't fit.

I believe we are created to fill needs, we are made for good works, and the work we have to do is too big to do without faith. We are never enough on our own. I kept praying for a bigger understanding of Sabbath.

This is how unhurried has become a matter of faith. Because what I learned from Joyce Meyer is God allows rest within work. This mantra, I do my best and let God do the rest, has a double meaning with the word rest.

This is an act of trust. I know I'm incapable of completing the work before me, but I live knowing it will be completed. There is freedom in this truth and this freedom leads to rest. We had less than 90 minutes to make our 3 dishes, put away all of the groceries, shower and become presentable for Thanksgiving dinner.

I did my best and let God do the rest. Not only were the 3 dishes complete and groceries put away, but we started prepping dishes for the next day. We had fun. Laughter spilled out of our kitchen.

This may seem insignificant.
It's not.

In times of stress, I've learned to force a state of calm, but my spirit is still twisted. I'm worried about things getting done. I'm focused on the next thing and the next thing. I don't pause to listen or to laugh. I just plow through the tasks with an eerie calmness that forces people out of my way.

When I trusted that I could do my best and let God do the rest, my spirit was at peace. This is living a life unhurried. This is a life well-rested. This is Sabbath at its finest.

And this peace, this life unhurried, is a reason to celebrate.

If you want to see my decade of words, check out my video documentary.

My offerings to encourage writers (and their teachers), because I'm smitten by the way writers work...

My brand new online course for Choice Literacy: Writing Workshop Basics is open for registration. It's all about molding writing workshop to be a well-oiled machine. This is one of my very favorite topics and I'm excited for the opportunity to get to share, inspire, and interact with an online class.

***

{Discover. Play. Build.} Website. It's designed to be my offering to writing teachers. 

You'll find video minilessons and a link to the {Discover. Play. Build.} YouTube Channel where they are all housed.

{Discover. Play. Build.} Newsletter. They come each month. Register in the sidebar. 

( For more information on these resources (and others), check out this post.)

 ***** 

Places you can find me celebrating throughout the week:
Instagram:  @ruth_ayres

Twitter: @ruth_ayres

Facebook: {Discover. Play. Build.}

Celebrate here!

An InLinkz Link-up

CELEBRATE This Week: LXVI

I'm glad you are here to celebrate! Share a link to your blog post below and/or use #celebratelu to share celebrations on Twitter. Check out the details here. Celebrate This Week goes live on Friday night around 10(ish). Consider it as a weekend celebration. Whenever it fits in your life, add your link. Please leave a little comment love for the person who links before you.

 ********

I'm so tempted to simply say, I celebrate a good week, and call it a celebration. Really, though, it would be a cop-out. So I sit for a moment, breathe good and deep, and think through to a genuine celebration.

I have a life filled to the brim with people who believe in me.

There. Now there's an authentic celebration.And it sure is something, isn't it?

A life filled to the brim with people who believe in me.

I almost missed it -- almost missed this powerful celebration -- because I was in a hurry and a little bit tired. It was there, just waiting for me to find it. Hanging out in the shadows of my mind. Lurking in the depths of reflection.

So here I sit, wishing this and wanting that, and the celebration of this truth finds me.

I have a life filled to the brim with people who believe in me.

This is not a small thing for someone who feels so small. This is not an insignificant thing for someone who is wrestling with the significance of her words. This is not mediocre for someone who is wondering if she's settling for mediocrity.

Celebration finds me and wipes the world clear.

I have a life filled to the brim with people who believe in me.

This is why I celebrate, so I can secure one more week when the lies won't win. I celebrate a week when the world spins truth and I see it. I celebrate a life filled to the brim with people who believe in me.

And I celebrate a heart too small to hold the gratitude and joy.

What I Find When I LEAP

Leap is a risky word. It flies in the face of comfort and conformity. It questions tradition and pushes back on the way things have always been.

Leap changes a person, making her realize there is power in living audaciously.

Leap is about being recklessly bold and intrepidly daring. Living leap can be surprising or shocking.

Living all in for Christ is about living leap. 

Leap looks dangerous to the world and it feels dangerous too, until a soul understands the goodness of God.

In Before Amen, Max Lucado wrote, "Nothing pleases Jesus as much as being audaciously trusted." I asked myself, "What would I do if I audaciously trusted Jesus?" and I made a list in my notebook.

It made me sad.

A list of ten actions if I audaciously trusted Jesus quickly rolled off my pen. It was difficult to write fast enough, to collect all the things I would do IF I audaciously trusted Jesus. My heart stung, realizing my faith is still so small. 

The list is only possible if I leap -- if I break conformity and risk comfort -- if I make choices based on audaciously trusting Jesus rather than based on how things are always done.

I reread my list and wondered if maybe I am a fraud. Instead of giving up, I gave it more thought. Maybe the problem is I need to understand the goodness of God. Because if God is good, then I can audaciously trust Him. I started praying on the same day I made the list, November 25, to understand more fully the goodness of God in order to audaciously trust Him.

I want to leap and live the life God creates for me.

Just because the calendar rolled to a new year doesn't mean leap will roll out of my life. It is here to stay, woven into the fibers of my heart. Today I look at my list and realize seven of the items are now part of the life I'm living.

I leap and find a very good God as my safety night.

Slowing Down: A Curated List

I've sat down to write several times today and instead I've been rereading a lot of past blog posts that have to do with slowing down. I decided to curate them here, organized by date, according to title, and a snippet of the post.

Celebrate This Week LII (11 October 2014): I celebrate slowing down. The world likes to tell me that I should do more. I'm learning this isn't always a Truth. The world likes to tell me if I'm not doing everything, then I'm not enough.

The Ketchup Incident (07 October 2014): You have enough time. I have to remind myself of this often. I constantly fight the lie of the world that says there is not enough time.


Slow Down for Fresh Strength (09 March 2014): What if we slow down and instead of lagging behind, we soar? Imagine a world filled with people soaring -- people filled with energy because they weren't exhausted from rushing. And it all begins with slowing down. 

Choose Happy (19 November 2013):  I think the world likes to tell us that we can find happiness by doing this thing or getting that thing. I don’t believe happiness has to do with anything I have or can get. Happiness is a choice. Or maybe it is a bunch of little choices that add up to being positioned to accept happiness.

Not Too Busy (07 November 2013): Too Busy. These words have a tendency to raise my hackles. I don't ever want to be too busy. I think too busy means I'm missing real life. Too busy means I'm swept up by the current panic or the flashy trend. Too busy means I'm surviving. Life should be more than survival.

Ordinary (11 October 2013): The ordinary events that make up this little life can seem so mundane. Yet, when I position myself to find the beauty and the joy, I am able to slow down and realize the ordinary moments lead to the best celebrations. It is here that I shine. And you do to. If we each celebrate our own ordinary, the world would be much lighter.

Be Not Do (25 September 2013): I don't have to do anything. I just have to be.

Real Life Now (17 September 2013): I don't want to be overwhelmed because we have a full schedule or because dinner dirtied a few pans or because the showers are lasting a little past bedtime. Instead, I want my joy to overflow with the giggles bursting and the arms tight around my waist hugging and Andy's eyes sparkling because we're in this together and even when they are grouchy and we are in passing vehicles, this family life is very good.

Do Less (16 July 2013):  So today I will do less in order to make room for more. It might just be about my state of mind, rather than the things I do. Instead of thinking about the next thing, wondering how I'll get it all done, I'll focus on more giggles and more stories and more tastes of cookie dough from not-so-stealthy little hands. Because this day is too precious to fill it up with stuff. Instead, doing less will preserve it more.

Lighthearted (23 March 2013): Mistakes are part of life. I'm learning to live in the midst of them and still shine. I can do this by choosing cheer. 

Enamored (04 March 2013):  I think this world could use more people being enamored with people. You know, to be completely taken, totally blown away by how remarkable someone is. Simply being enchanted by another person.


Cutting Back (20 November 2012): I know cutting back often results in stronger, more substantial, and deeper roots. I believe less is more. I'm confident this isn't giving up, but rather growing out of my old writer skin.

Stop (26 June 2012):  Instead I'm going to pause. Linger. Piddle. Be slow. Otherwise, I'm going to crash. Sometimes it gets to the point where we just have to stop.

Mission STORY (12 February 2012): Story is organic. Constantly living and changing and adapting. I like this. I like how we can collect snippets of our past and weave them into a tale. Then we continue living and telling our story and it weaves around, revealing more. Understanding more. Connecting more.

Tasting (10 January 2012): As I'm remembering how to taste my food, I'm also learning how to taste the words I put on the page. I will patiently wait for everything to come together in order to savor life.


Mission STORY (29 November 2011): Writing makes me slow down and soak in the moments I would otherwise forget. Writing makes me appreciate this perfectly ordinary little life of mine. Writing forces me to look life in the eyes and live it for real.

Summer Days (26 July 2011):  Living is more than doing, sometimes it's in the useless moments where the treasures lurk. 

Connect (21 June 2011): Connections are essential to humans. When I connect, my life is sweeter.

Turn {Five Minute Friday}

Go.

It only takes a moment for life to turn. One moment you might be doing your work, a thing you’ve done so many times that you don’t even have to think about the process, you just go through the motions and complete the job. It might be the same work you’ve done for decades, so rote that you don't even think about it because it just gets done. That’s what Andy’s dad was doing last Wednesday. He was putting in field tile, in the bottom of a trench, working alongside his older brother. It's what they do after the harvest is done.

They were going through the motions, shoulder to shoulder, when the dirt shifted. It began to fall, and one yelled, “Get out!” They moved, down the trench in opposite directions. Except the dirt caught Andy's dad and buried him up to his chin.

Life turns.  And in that moment – the moment when it turns – you realize what a gift you’ve been given and you know whether you've spent it well.

With a little turn of dirt, a whole world can change. Right now, in the moment after the turn, I am remembering that each life is a gift. Every moment counts.

Stop.

*The disadvantage to writing in a five minutes is you can leave out important parts of the story. Dennis, Andy's dad, is doing much better than one would expect after being crushed by thousands of pounds of dirt. Although he has several broken bones and is in much pain, he is going to be okay (with time, lots of time). He is blessed and very much alive.

Join Five Minute Friday here.

The Ketchup Incident

You have enough time. I have to remind myself of this often. I constantly fight the lie of the world that says there is not enough time.

Because there is.

When I was Hannah's age, 13, I started a quote book. One quote that I penned decades ago has been pricking at my mind and tonight I flipped through the yellow-edged pages just to find this:

“Don’t say you don’t have enough time to change the world. You have exactly the same number of hours per day that were given to Helen Keller, Gandhi, Michelangelo, Mother Teresa, Leonardo da Vinci and Jesus Christ.” --- Shannon L. Adler

These words have been rattling around inside my mind, bumping into that quote about enough hours in the day:

"Live a life worthy of the gospel of Christ." --- Paul, Philippians 1:27

What is a life worthy?

It's the ketchup incident. 

Sam asked me, "Mom, did you hear about the ketchup incident?"

"No. What's the ketchup incident?" I asked, pausing as I chopped the onion to start dinner.

"You've gotta hear this. Today I was opening one of those ketchup packets, you know the kind that say, 'tear here then squeeze'?"

I nod, a smile tugging at the corner of my mouth.

"Well, I had to get ketchup for my hamburger, which I had to eat because you forgot to pack my lunch because Dad went to work early, but that's okay because it turns out I like school hamburgers. That's not the ketchup incident, but that's an aside to the story. Teachers don't like asides, but I think sometimes they make the best part of stories. But not this story. This story is good on its own."

"So, the ketchup incident," I redirect him.

"Yeah. I tore the corner off at 'tear here then squeeze' and I was squeezin', but nothing was coming out. It was stuck. So I squeezed harder and just like that, the whole back of the packet burst open and ketchup came flying past my ear and hit my friend -- splat -- right in his face!"

Sam's eyes were wide as he retold the story. "We were both laughing, because it's not like anyone can ever plan for a ketchup packet to burst open on the wrong end. Except some of it went past his face and hit the grouchiest teacher in the school."

Sam snickered.

"What happened?" I asked.

"We tried not to laugh, but I still got 5 minutes on the wall at recess. It's not a big deal, though. I know there are some people who just don't understand ketchup incidents."

I laughed at his story and the sincerity in which he told it. Sam returned to building Lego creations. I went back to building dinner. His words hung in the air. Some people just don't understand ketchup incidents.

Finally I asked, "What do you mean some people don't understand ketchup incidents?"

He snapped another brick into place. "Oh, you know, Mom. Sometimes people forget how rare it is for a ketchup packet to burst from the back. And what are the chances it whizzes past my ear, but hits my friend? And he thought it was funny! It's not everyday that happens."

"So ketchup incidents are the things that don't happen every day?"

"You got it. I like those stories."

"But not everyone does."

"No kidding. That's why I ended up on the wall, but all I did was replayed the ketchup incident in my brain movie."

He snickered again as he searched for a Lego piece.

He's right. It's the ketchup incidents that make life worthy. It's about the things we chose to pay attention to, the stories we deem important enough to replay in our brain movies and tell again and again. It's about accepting life as it's given and to recognize that even if there are some bumps (like spending time on the wall), it is still worth it to accept the ketchup incidents as they happen.


Helen Keller put her hand under a stream of water.
As a young boy, Gandhi was so shy he ran home from school so he wouldn't have to talk to anyone.
Michelangelo didn't want anything to do with painting the Sistine Chapel.

Mother Teresa questioned her faith at times.
Leonardo da Vinci had a reputation for not finishing the things he started.
Jesus turned water into wine.

Small stories that may seem insignificant. But they are not. They offer proof of perseverance, evidence of transformation. People who had enough time.

Here's to living a life filled with recognizing it is the the ketchup incidents that make a life worthy. And to remembering we do, in fact, have enough time.

Teaching Paragraphing

Last night Annabel Hurlburt and I were talking about helping fourth grade writers organize their narratives with paragraphs. Annabel has done an incredible job of helping her students think in scenes and craft a story. As we were looking at some drafts, we realized starting new paragraphs wasn't automatic for most writers in the room.

I was reminded of the tricky nature of knowing when to start a new paragraph. Several years ago, I posed the question to Two Writing Teacher readers: How do you know when to start a new paragraph?

The responses led me to accepting this truth: Knowing when to start a new paragraph is more art than science.

Below is a repost of the original, along with an image of the chart. For most elementary classrooms, we wouldn't teach all of these at the same time, but rather select a few that go along with the learning that is already happening. Then we could offer the invitation to students to notice other times authors start new paragraphs and add to the chart as we go through the school year.

One more thing, if you have a few extra minutes (and even if you don't), I highly recommend this post from Annabel about what she believes when it comes to teaching writers. I find it both inspiring.

*****

I took your wise words and put them together in a chart. It’s hanging in my office because I love how it is a reminder of the power of collaboration. It also restores my faith in our ability to teach conventions through writing workshop. I love (and I mean lovelovelove) that no one offered a sentence number as a means of knowing when to start a new paragraph. I’m sure we’ve all met our share of students who count sentences and then start a new paragraph. 

Ugh.

As many of you know, I’m a big believer in the power of art. I’m working to create charts with a strong visual presence with the intent of helping students retain their learning through the visual stores in their brains. Creating this chart reaffirmed to me the importance of first collecting ideas and then organizing them on a chart.

So my thoughts on paragraphing…

As Liza Lee Miller said in the comments, “It is an art.” I’ve been paying close attention to my own work with paragraphs and I’ve realized it is truly more art than science. Tara’s comparison resonated with me — knowing where a paragraph starts is like knowing when to shift the gears of a manual transmission. There is an element of “feeling” the paragraph shift while writing. Of course there are the nonnegotiables: new speaker, new time, new setting, new idea. These just aren’t enough, though. There are many other times when a new paragraph begins. Outside of school assignments, I’ve never made a paragraph shift based on the number of sentences.

In addition, I find it unrealistic to set paragraph limits for different genres. For instance, who’s to say how many paragraphs will make up a short story? It depends on dialogue, setting changes, and lines that need emphasized. Instead of thinking in paragraphs, I’ve shifted my thinking to considering parts. It is realistic to say  a short story for a seventh grade writer will have 4-6 scenes. Paragraphs? I’m not even going to try to touch that.

Sometimes I think teachers set sentence limits and paragraph requirements with the good intentions of helping students elaborate. Rather than demanding more details, I make an effort to help students learn ways to elaborate. In Shelley Kunkle’s short story unit, we’ve taught students to build scenes not with 5 sentence paragraphs, but with snapshots and thought shots (a la Barry Lane), character action, dialogue, object description, character description, flash backs, and incorporating another genre such as a letter or poem. (There’s another post all about how everything from object description on in this list came from students during share sessions.)  They are elaborating with intent and their writing is strong.

Today we talked about paragraphing. Because Shelley and I have extended their repertoire of elaboration tools, students were able to feel the “shift” when it was time to start new paragraphs. I shared my notebook with students, my messy collections of words, and asked students to notice the way I use paragraphs, even in my private notebook writing. It’s a habit I’ve established and a habit I hope for students. Today they were intentional about using paragraphs as they drafted.

In another post, I hope to reflect on the way paragraphing decisions influences my revision work much more than my editing process. But that will have to wait for another day. Until then, thank you for joining this conversation and pushing my thinking when it comes to conventions in writing workshop.

Unexpected Momma Adjustments

This summer didn't go how I wanted it to go.

I hate speaking of summer in past tense, especially since I've committed to keeping summer in my spirit until September.This is still my plan.

My plan, however, is adjusted to reality.

The reality is this: The first four weeks of summer were crammed-jammed with have-tos. The second four weeks of summer were supposed to be lazy summer days when I write in the morning and we go for bike rides and we eat lunch next to the water fall at the park and we pop over to our neighbor's for late afternoon swims and we roast marshmallows and catch fireflies and dirt swirls in the tub and one more book is read together. It turns out the last four weeks of summer were crammed-jammed too.

This isn't a summer issue.

My kids are growing up.

I know this isn't shocking and for those of you on the other side of the screen who have been there before me, I'm sure you are nodding, maybe even smirking a bit.

But for this momma, you might as well hit me with a stampede of elephants.

Hannah is a 7th grader. Her legs are almost as long as I am tall.
Stephanie organized her dresser drawers according to sports season.
Jay is planning for his first sleep over.
And Sam always has a baseball cap on his head and quarters in his pocket, just in case he wants to buy popcorn at the concession stand or a pack of Juicy Fruit at the store.

What happened to 7:30 bedtime? What happened to park visits? What happened to left overs for the next day?

There's this too. They can devour a 4 pound meatloaf in a single meal. I can pile their plates with a main dish, a starch, a vegetable, a fruit -- they can have seconds and still are hungry.

Hungry!

They make plans and add them to the calendar. Softball practice. Run with a friend. Football try-outs. Boyscout camp out.

Their plans have suddenly usurped mine.

And summer didn't go as I expected.

How could I have expected this? I'm not needed to orchestrate the day. They are building their own lives. I'm sidelined to administrative assistant and taxi driver.

But there is still this: Wherever I am, they find me. They still join me on the front porch with books and chocolate milks. They still pile in the family room, snuggled under quilts. They congregate in the kitchen when I'm making cookies or dinner. They let me rub their backs before bedtime and they still whisper important thoughts to me.

We are on the move, but I don't get to set the pace.

Instead, I get to be along for the ride as their biggest fan. (Well, second biggest, because Andy will make no bones about being bigger in mass and therefore a bigger fan. I still contest this logic.)

We are their biggest fans. And I am stunned by how remarkable I find them.

That little girl who shelled up and ignored the world is joining the cross country team so she can make new friends. The other little girl who threw a fit every. single. night. when asked to put her dishes in the dishwasher clears the table without being asked. The little boy who used to be afraid to play outside shoots hundreds of baskets each afternoon. The one we brought home from the hospital and stopped every three miles just to check to make sure the car seat was still secure, sits in the front seat on the way to run this errand and pick up that sibling.

This summer has been one of adjustment for me. I'm learning to let go. I'm learning to give up my freedom for scheduling in the most convenient manner for me. I'm learning a conversation is more useful than a timeout and that sometimes you have to lose the battle in order to win the war (as my dad would say, even though I promised I would never utter those words.)

I guess what I'm realizing is I'm okay with all of this. I'm okay with being sidelined. I'm okay with losing some battles to snotty retorts and huffy feet. I'm okay with giving up some of my freedom. (Although I am grieving the loss of 7:30 pm bedtime.)

Because in the end, there are going to be four rather remarkable people who will make the world a better place. Meanwhile this momma will adjust her pace and cling to the truth that her stories still matter and her writing is still a calling and she will keep making her corner of the world better too. It just may take a little longer as I run a young soul to one more commitment and listen to another heartache and console anxious nerves and stand next to the train table, building a skyscraper out of a cereal box because I realize more than ever how short-lived childhood really is.

I hope you keep reading as I find my footing as my children outgrow me.