Just One Time Around

It's been a crazy, busy, fun-filled week that started with the birthday of our third child and oldest son, Buck. Monday, March 1st was Buck's 10th birthday. Such a milestone for a child - double digits.  

Our sweet Buck is a child who has always loved his birthday. Not the gifts, so much, or what we do, but rather just the fact that this one day of the year belongs to him. Knowing how much "his" day means to him, we've always tried to make it special. 

Along with loving his day, he loves to be surprised on his day. This year, for his birthday, he really wanted to go see the Harlem Globetrotters, who were going to be in town March 5th and 6th. He made this request back before Christmas, when he first saw that they would be here around his birthday.  

We purchased the tickets about a month before his birthday, but we kept it a secret.  As his day approached, we pretended that we had completely forgotten. "We're so sorry, but we've been running crazy lately and forgot to get the tickets. We're so sorry," we told him.

He hung his head, only briefly, before forgiving us as only he can. "It's okay. They'll come to town another time. Maybe we can go next year."

We felt a little bad letting him down, but knew that it would make the surprise even better in the end.  Our tickets were for Friday night, the only night this past week that we had no other obligations - very rare for us lately. We picked Audra up from her basketball practice and told the kids we were taking them out to dinner. After dinner, as we parked and walked towards the arena, the kids wondered where we were headed. We stopped and handed Buck an envelope containing the Globetrotter tickets.  He opened it and here's what it looked like:

Pure joy! Buck read the ticket information and literally jumped into his dad's arms. We did it - a complete surprise and a very happy 10 year old boy.  Little Colton was completely caught off guard (notice his face in the first photo) and kept asking, "What does this mean? What are the Harlem Globetrotters and what state are they from?"  

Once inside the arena, sitting in our very excellent seats, the kids were thrilled.  Buck, Colton, Sierra and Audra were thoroughly entertained.  It was a fun night, a great memory for the kids and a wonderful surprise for a very special boy!

Happy double-digit birthday, Buck!

Our family enjoyed a great week last week and a full weekend with my husband's parents in town for a visit. We stuck with our typical weekend sports schedule, enjoyed a belated Christmas exchange with grandma and grandpa and headed north for a visit to the Blazin' M Ranch. Grandma Danna came with one agenda: visit the Blazin' M.

Having lived in AZ for most of my life, she was surprised that I had not heard of the Blazin' M.  After we found the website, I guess I was a little surprised myself. We hit the road on Saturday for a 90 mile trip north to Cottonwood, home of the Blazin' M Ranch.  As excited and focused as Grandma Danna was on going, our four kids were in the most opposite camp. "Why do we have to go the Blazin' M? Why doesn't Grandma just take Grandpa and tell us how it is?" They protested.  

"Grandma and Grandpa came a long way to visit and this is important to them, so we need to support them and enjoy spending time with them, building some new memories. I'm sure it will be fun." I encouraged. Still, their faces were glum.

The ride north was uneventful, except for the driving rain that pelted us as we traveled. After sitting outside all morning in forty degree, rainy weather while watching Colton's soccer game, I was praying that our evening would be dry. Sure enough, God graced us with lovely weather as we entered the Blazin' M.

Immediately, we saw the Olde Tyme Photoworks studio and all of a sudden I couldn't wait to go in and check it out. Entering the quaint corner room, we were greeted with the musty aroma of old clothes and soggy patrons. There was a large group just getting settled in to be photographed, each looking like they stepped off the plains of the old, rugged west. My heart pounded with excitement. We need a new family portrait. Won't this be fun!

Looking over at my husband, I saw the same look on his face and we both agreed, family photo time! The kids took a little time sizing up the situation and they each attempted to protest. "I'm not wearing clothes that other people have worn, without washing them first," our sweet, germaphobe, Audra, exclaimed.

Colton tugged relentlessly on my sleeve, begging me to leave. "Let's just go, mom. They haven't seen us yet, just turn and go." He protested.

"Honey, this will be so much fun. Your dad and I have already decided we are going to have the family picture taken," I explained to Colton.

"If you make us do it, then you will be the worstest mom ever," he cried, while I tried not to giggle at his eight year-old desperation. Bending down and holding him close, I reminded him that we would never do anything that wasn't good and this was going to be fun. He settled in and quietly watched the family before us.

"Can I hold a gun?" Buck asked. 

"Sure, you can, " his dad promised, hoping to hold a gun himself.

Finally, it was our turn. The lady picked a costume for each of us and we took turns in the small dressing room, emerging as if we were filming Bonanza.  It was great! Each time the dressing room curtain opened, everyone outside would cheer for the old-fashioned version of the family member who emerged. In the end, even the people waiting after us were cheering.

Grandma Danna and Grandpa Marvin were great sports and jumped in with us for some old-fashioned fun.  The kids quickly forgot their reservations and each had a giant smile pasted to their face. The photographer had us look serious and then she had us smile. We looked at each other and we all looked away. Us girls held parasols and fans while the boys held guns and rifles. Magically, we were transported to a different time and it felt simple, it felt good.

We left the Olde Tyme Photoworks with attitudes that were completely changed and excitedly headed over to the barn for our chuck wagon dinner show. It was a lovely evening filled with experiences and memories that none of us will forget. The kids loved the Ghost Riders In The Sky song, with the "ghost rider" racing in fast circles around the barn, under lightning.  The boys also loved Otis, the funny man of the show. 

Walking in, Grandma Danna definitely had the biggest smile. Walking out, we all had one just as big.  It was a great teachable moment for the kids, about going into new adventures with a good attitude.  Each one of them agreed. We also learned that with the right attitude, happiness is contagious!

Our home is typically a hustling, bustling epicenter of activity with countless people coming and going. In the very least, it is a boisterous playground for our four kids. Such is not the case as I sit to write.

The day began, as most Saturday's do, with our son's basketball game followed by our other son's soccer game. With the impending three day weekend, my husband could not wait to hit the road and head north, for some R and R at the cabin. He left this afternoon, a huge smile across his face, with our three oldest kids. I stayed behind to help our youngest son prepare for his first ever sleep-over party. We packed all of his little necessities into his backpack and off he went, a huge smile across his face. 

Now, I'm home alone, a fish out of water, a clock with no hands, a mom with no kids. I can't remember the last time I've had no one to feed, no one to bathe and no one to remind about picking up their room. It was Wade's idea. He thought it would be a nice break for me and I do appreciate his willingness to take all the kids, so I could have a night off. Still, the silence is new.

The departure of responsibility for others left me with a blank canvas of possibilities. I spent the first two hours of alone time, sitting on my computer taking an on-line coaching course. I was a little disappointed that when I logged out for a much-needed break, it stated that I had completed only 24% of the course. With that, I decided it was a great time to wash some of the bedding in the house.  The kids are gone and the beds are empty, so I got stripping and started washing.

Then, I decided to enter one of our pets in a local news station's "Cutest Pet Contest". I submitted the photo and there's simply no doubt that Sierra's hairless cat, Elmo, is the cutest pet! I'm counting on a victory.

Next, it was shower time.  This was a turning point in my evening really, as I originally thought I might just sleep in my clothes. Colton left for his sleep-over about four hours ago and he's called as many times. Although my gut tells me that he's not going to be the least bit homesick, the mom in me feels the need to be ready for the midnight pick-up. Colton is actually our most independent child and quite often I remind my husband that he really doesn't need us. He has unusual confidence and self-esteem, a child who is not afraid to step out and take on the world. The only thing holding him back from pure independence is his inability to operate a motor vehicle. It's good to be needed.

After my most recent phone conversation with Colton, I decided he was not going to need me and I wouldn't need to sleep in my clothes after all. Lots of friends and family (you know who you are) like to tease me about my affinity for getting jammied-up as early as possible each evening. With no one here to harass me, I'm happy as a clam typing away completely cozy and comfortable, in my warm winter jammies.  

With the clock ticking on my evening alone, I gave some thought to finishing a project I started several weeks ago - cleaning out our master closet - but decided I deserved a night off. So what if we need to long-jump over my piles in the closet entry?  It's good exercise.  

I had what I thought was a really good book to read, but as I sat down with it the other day I ran into some unnecessary and horribly inappropriate language.  That did it for me, I was done.  I really think that books need to come with their own content labels. Everyone in the bookstore raved about this guy and his witty style.  Yes, I loved his style. I just couldn't stand his lack of character.  

I do have a stack of notes to write and I never made it to the gym today, but the sound of silence is making me sleepy. It's time to tuck the phone under my pillow, just in case Colton decides he needs a ride home. After all, he can't drive.

I've not been ignoring my blog on purpose, but clearly I've been less than ambitious about posting. It's not for lack of want, but rather the self-imposed schedule of events that consume my life lately. Some of these events are quite worthwhile and important while others, not so much. In either case, too many events result in a lack of blogging time. My apologies.

Today was a big day for our family and one that comes but once a year - piano recital day. I wish I could say that our kids love playing the piano, but alas, I can not tell a lie. Piano is one of those things, like making their beds, that we require them to do. It definitely falls into the "chore" category, but I'm confidant and hopeful that someday they will thank us for the "chore" of making them play. 

We've been blessed with a wonderful piano teacher, a strong Christian lady with extremely high standards and expectations, who is both kind and bluntly honest in her feedback.  She comes to our home every week and gives each of our kids a private, 30 minute lesson, expecting that they will practice every day until she comes again. To entice them to practice every day, she gives them stickers for the times they play each piece perfectly and for every piece they memorize.  Then, on recital day, she passes out elaborate trophies to those individual kids who excel in their practice by memorizing and playing with perfection. The ones with the most stickers win. Each year, the Pettit kids leave empty handed. Well, that's not totally true. Their teacher has consolation medals, which she passes out to all the kids who won't be getting a trophy. The slackers.

This year, as we were racing to the recital after church, Colton kept saying, "I really want to get a trophy this time." Realizing that this was a teachable moment, I patiently reminded him that the kids who get the trophies actually practice every day.

"Remember honey, when you and your brother were playing sock hockey in the house this morning before church and I suggested that you practice for the recital, instead? And remember when I remind you to practice during the week and you give it two minutes, but call it twenty? The kids who get the trophies are the ones who put in the real time and effort."

"But hockey is funner than piano," he argues, with perfect second grade logic. 

I see his point and am just grateful that his teacher has not yet banned our kids from the recital. To make up for their lack of practice, I make sure they look like a million bucks. This takes much effort and I could write a different blog about shopping for recital clothes, another "chore" the kids enjoy.

We screeched to a stop in front of the church. Late, the kids jumped out of the car and ran in with their music while we parked. At each recital, all the recital kids sit in one section of the church in the order they are playing while the parents sit on the other side. The youngest kids sit in the second row and so it goes back to the final performer - the creme de la creme of piano students. Directly in front of the tiniest recital participants, Colton included, our teacher lays out her elaborate trophy display on the front pew of the church.

I notice, as Colton sits down, he is on the very front edge of his seat leaning over to see the shiny trophies right in front of him. I mention to my mom how very badly he wants a trophy while explaining that I'm sure it won't be happening. We both realize disappointment looms.

Each one of our kids played beautifully and each made it look effortless, like they actually practiced every day and enjoyed it. As the final student finished his lengthy and complicated piece, their teacher stood up front and talked about the enormous effort that the children put into their piano. I realize, she is not talking about our kids, but I pretend that she is. As she is speaking, Colton is fixated on the shiny trophies laid out before him, ready to jump up at the mention of his name.  Slowly, she introduces each student by telling the audience how many pieces each winner has memorized. "And this student has memorized 354 pieces this year." Followed quickly by, "This student has only been playing for six months and has managed perfection on 210 songs."  And so it went.

I'm pretty sure that Colton's biggest disappointment was not that he left without a trophy, but rather watching the little boy who sat next to him leave with two.  As we walked out and I hugged each of them, I asked Colton if he was sad that he did not get a trophy.

"Yes! I wanted one!" He shouted as we walked over to thank their teacher.

As each of the kids hugged their teacher following the recital, she complimented the two who practiced the most and did the best. "You did it, perfection!" To the other two, she said, "You looked nice." She's must be on to me.

As we made our way out to the car, I decided to try the teachable moment thing again with Colton. "You do understand, honey, that the little boy next to you probably practices for 30 minutes every day and that's how he is able to memorize so many songs.  If you practice more starting tomorrow, you could leave with a trophy next year," I tell him, hoping to use this moment of raw disappointment as a catalyst for change.

"No, I've already thought about it. I'd rather play hockey," he tells me and runs off, looking spiffy while happily wearing his shiny new slacker's medal.